


Cold Metal Machine

by SquintyCrossbowMan (JacksMedullaOblongata)



Series: Cablepool Chronicles [2]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, cable's pov as requested!, companion piece to Just Be Pretty But Naive, dp2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-05-19 10:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacksMedullaOblongata/pseuds/SquintyCrossbowMan
Summary: Nathan is fairly good at keeping his cool. Like anyone, there are things that make him mad, but overall he stays fairly neutral up until it shows. He can say for a fact that his temper doesn’t particularly get the best of him.When Wade Wilson is involved, it’s a separate matter entirely.





	1. I shouldn't let you get to me, but you do

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! If you haven't read Just Be Pretty But Naive, you should - it makes this fic make much more sense! This is kind of a companion piece which might only work if you've read the first one. So here it is:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14795294/chapters/34229141  
> (Or you can click Previous Work if it's easier lmao)  
> You don't have to have read it but IMO it might help with some of the references here! 
> 
> If you have read it before, I'm glad you've found your way to this. Some of you requested this and I'm sorry it's taken me a little while to get this first chapter out! I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> I'm using names in this fic rather than hero(???) names to distinguish from Wade's POV. Like in the main fic, Cable calls Wade 'Wilson', and the others by their first names. (and oH my god you have no idea how much I wrote 'Cable' instead of Nathan it's so hard). 
> 
> Title from Anarbor's Passion for Publication to keep with it :) Chapter title from Church by Alison Wonderland 
> 
> And check out my fic playlist, of course ;) https://open.spotify.com/user/keeprunningkilljoys/playlist/5s12iVxNhu0o4Cx6VXNEZd?si=Pjn3nG_2RjudfpxjKXnIKQ) 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are my lifeforce! <3

Nathan is fairly good at keeping his cool. Like anyone, there are things that make him mad, but overall he stays fairly neutral up until it shows. He can say for a fact that his temper doesn’t particularly get the best of him. 

When Wade Wilson is involved, it’s a separate matter entirely. 

The man – if you can call him that, since he has a face that looks like a badly paved road – is nothing short of _imbecilic_. He flukes his way through fights and never stops talking. Nathan would normally have some degree of respect for a wise-ass opponent, but _god_ , does that voice piss him off. Wilson’s constant habit of referencing something off-topic and cryptic, especially in the middle of a fight, is getting tired fast. Wilson just really needs someone to shut him up. 

And that _head_ – some of the thoughts coming from Wilson’s trashy mind really set Nathan’s teeth on edge. He legitimately has no shame. 

Nathan tries to distract himself from thinking about him in any way he can, because as grating as Wilson is, for some reason the fucker hangs around in his head like a bad song. 

He can hear Wilson playing music as he walks past his room. It’s often midday before he surfaces and he’s not usually up so early. Nathan isn’t surprised per se, just mildly intrigued as to why. 

He finds Ellie and Yukio in the kitchen making bowls of cereal before they go out for the day. They share nods and Yukio smiles at him. 

He doesn’t talk much to the others in the house. They’re too young for him to understand their interests and they aren’t his demographic of friendship by any stretch. 

Neena, or Domino as she goes by, is a little easier for conversation. But she’s on par with the big guy, Colossus, or Piotr – too attached to her time to understand his own time. The concept of the future tends to make talking die fast. 

Nathan hates to admit it, but Wilson is the easiest to make conversation with. His habits are absolutely infuriating but at least he seems to possess an extensive pop culture knowledge which keeps him interested. 

Yukio and Ellie leave the room. Nathan blends protein powder with water, almonds and oats. Focusing on it in his head means less time wondering what’s on Wilson’s mind. He pauses in blending to silently curse himself for always returning to _him_. 

“Morning, handsome.” 

A thrill of what Nathan assumes is anger shoots down his spine. A hand tries to slide around his shoulder and he catches it sharply, holding it away. 

“Now we’re holding hands,” Wilson says. _His grip is so fucking strong_ , his brain says, _I wonder how it would feel_ – 

Nathan lets go. Wilson pulls a bottle out the refrigerator. 

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Nathan asks, eyeing him. Wilson bites the cap off. 

“Yes,” he says obtusely. He puts the cap into Nathan’s back jeans pocket and smiles as he drinks. He sits in a chair and the bottle thuds down onto the table. He’s watching closer than he would admit out loud. 

Nathan pours out his half blended smoothie into a glass. He tries to drink it and grimaces. Behind him, Wilson is tapping his fingers off the bottle glass. Nathan looks around. 

“Are you unable to be alone in a room?” he asks. 

Wade’s mouth says, “I have a crippling fear of being left alone, actually,” but his thoughts say, _I’d love to be alone in a room with you in other circumstances._

Nathan sighs. The guy is such a fucking oblivious idiot. He’s more transparent than a pane of fucking glass, with all his oh-so secretive glances that he seems to think are so subtle. It’s uncomfortable to do anything with his gaze because Nathan can often predict his thoughts. They are, without fail, crude and sexual and honestly, in a very small way, intriguing – he shakes his head. _No, amusing is the word he meant to use._

“Remember the good old days when you called me names? My favorite was ‘butt plug’. That was cute.” 

Nathan tips his smoothie back into the blender. “You haven’t changed at all. My opinion still stands.” 

“I can be _your_ butt plug,” Wilson says sweetly. He seems to notice the coldness that overtakes Nathan, because he stands up and announces his exit, patting the pocket that contains the bottle cap as he passes. Nathan waits until he’s long gone to start the blender up again, reaching into the pocket with his metal hand and tightening his fist around the cap until it’s unrecognisable. 

He pictures the cap as Wilson’s head. 

There isn’t much to do in the house, he finds. It’s only got five people in it not including himself, and it’s a big place. Nathan has a vague idea of who used to be here but never really looked into it. 

He bumps into Piotr in one of the corridors and they exchange an awkward glance which makes him wish he understood this time a little better so he could leave this house more. It’s not like he can’t cope at all – more that, despite being from the future, he somehow feels _behind_ the times. It’s an odd limbo he can’t explain. It’s a world completely different from what he was used to, of celebrity gossip and Snapchat and things Nathan couldn’t really give two shits about. 

He finds his way back to his room and focuses on making sure his arsenal is still functioning. It’s less to fix things for real and more to just find something to do. Nathan changes his mind, building something new instead, a sort of stun gun, only far more powerful. Maybe one of these weekdays, there’ll be another fight. It seems to be a universe of nothingness or big fights. He recalls Wilson comparing it to fiction before, a world of convenient timings, and he can’t help agreeing. 

Wilson seems to be just as bored as him, because he’s drifted into the open doorway behind him, and he’s watching, like he seems to do a lot. 

Wilson is considering stealing one of his guns and Nathan makes sure to remember to keep a closer eye on his belongings, since he once found one of his fucking T-shirts in Wilson’s hands, cut across the middle. ‘Crop tops are in fashion’. _What a bullshit excuse._

Right now, Nathan can tell Wilson is scrutinising him, but he doesn’t want to rise to the bait and tell him to fuck off. The guy can keep acting free rein with his eyes until they eventually get ripped out. Even so, it seems appreciative bordering on bothering him, so he keeps his mouth shut until Wilson’s thoughts give him a reason to close the door. 

_Why am I staring? I’m checking for weaknesses. Any tells for an arthritis ridden joint or a favored hand. Yeah, that’s it_ , Wilson thinks. 

Cable almost snorts at the absurdity of how often Wilson says things like that to himself. He pauses for a moment, tempted to tell Wilson to stop looking, because there aren’t any weaknesses. He changes his mind from saying it, but still can tell the fear that just flooded Wilson. It’s laughable how he’s so prone to staring yet averse to being caught. 

Nathan hears Wilson start daydreaming about using a gun in a video game, and then images come into his head which are less desirable, and Nathan finds himself trying to break Wilson out of those thoughts, because he’s doesn’t want to see gunshots injuries like _that_. 

“Do you need something?” he asks, and there it is, that _oh shit_ reaction Wilson gets when he’s been caught. 

“Just wondering where I can get a gun like that,” he lies. The guy lies through his fucking teeth. His thoughts are clearly conjuring up some scenario which involves the bed _underneath_ the guns. But Nathan lets Wilson have his fun. 

“… Overcompensating sci-fi comic?” Wilson finishes. He’s hiding his panic at being caught underneath another one of those references. 

“You aren’t getting one,” Nathan says, ignoring the questions, since Wilson’s still reminding himself to sneak in and take one. _Damn_ , Wilson thinks, _I was so close_. 

Nathan lifts his eyebrows, facing away so Wilson can’t see. _No, you really weren’t._

“Worth a shot,” Wilson says, gaze traveling down. Nathan turns around and crosses his arms in an attempt to get Wilson to stop hanging about and leave, but his extremely obvious hint is rejected. Instead, Wilson is fucking practically speechless looking at him, his jumbled thoughts insecure and disorganised. Nathan doesn’t lavish the attention, but he finds himself uncharacteristically interested in how far Wilson can go before he realizes he’s a very loud thinker. 

Maybe it’s a bad idea, but it’s the closest thing to entertainment that Nathan gives a fuck about, and it includes Wilson making a complete fucking fool of himself, so it’s a double plus. 

“You should lend me a gun one day,” Wilson says, like he’s trying to distract himself. Nathan doesn’t break his gaze. 

“No, I shouldn’t.” 

“You really should.” 

It’s insistent and childish, but Nathan half wants to say yes, just to see Wilson fuck up and shoot his hands off. Then again, like back at the prison, it could be detrimental for them both. He changes his mind. 

“Mm. I _really_ shouldn’t.” 

Wilson makes some remark about half and half that makes zero sense to him. He chooses to stay silent, and Wade’s thoughts slowly slip back to the range of dirty. Nathan doesn’t want to feed his imagination any longer and moves up to the door, but Wilson is out of focus in his mire of thoughts. He frowns. 

“Can you move.” 

Doesn’t phrase it in a way that Wilson can disagree and make up some excuse. He gets room to get past, though barely, and pushes through. He doesn’t go far, only to the upper level of the house until Wilson leaves his room, and returns to finish the gun. 

Nathan hates himself to admit it, but now _he’s_ the one distracted, not fully concentrating on what he’s doing. Wilson gets under his skin so easily and it’s unexplainable, so he brushes it off as finding the soulmate equivalent of who he hates most, and leaves it at that. Unlike Wilson, he can control his thoughts. 

Alarm spreads through the house and he hears Wilson thinking, _crap, another explosion? It’s like Fast and Furious 23 on screen._

Nathan finishes his gun and switches from his blue tee, dropping it onto the bed and picking up his usual military-style tee. He puts it down and double-checks his BFG. Satisfied, he goes to get the shirt, but then a cable in his arm hitches. Battering in battle does that, he has to admit, and it’s a rare inconvenience. Something he knows Wilson would pick apart as a plot element, or whatever movie shit he talks about. 

Wilson’s voice comes muffled through the door and Nathan knows, like the shameless ass he is, there won’t be a knock. He doesn’t give a shit, though, because his arm is far above in his priorities than giving a shit about Wilson’s unapologetic eyes. 

The door opens and he turns, finding the impatience in Wilson’s head immature. 

“Yeah, I heard. Give me a minute,” he says as Wilson opens his mouth to quip. The silence that follows is, in Nathan’s opinion, the most surprising thing to happen all day. But it’s not surprising for long when he notices it’s purely Wilson’s fucking horny-as-an-animal attitude which is stopping him from replying, thoughts a complete fuzz of shock and elation. After a while, Wilson still isn’t saying anything, so he looks up. 

“What’re you staring at?” he asks, knowing full well Wilson can’t get a response out. There’s a hesitation as he pulls his usual shirt on, Wilson trying to get some kind of reference out to hide his fluster. Nathan smiles where he is facing away, but _shit_ , Wilson catches it with his eye, which are apparently as sharp as a _fucking eagle’s_. Nathan wipes the smile off fast, turning back around to deter Wilson’s hope. He makes sure his arm is fixed, flexing it. It doesn’t catch this time, the cables working smoothly, and for some reason a movement so simple sends Wilson into a headspin. 

It’s pathetic, really. 

“You’re fucking weird, Wilson,” Nathan says, but in an almost admirable way, since he has never encountered someone as embarrassing and brazen in all his time. 

He gets to the courtyard long before Wilson, the red fucker hanging back for reasons he doesn’t want to think over. Piotr looks down at him neutrally as he boards the jet, or whatever it is they choose to call it. Every member of the team seems to call it a different thing in their head. Wilson takes what feels like a long time, and he sits on the opposite side at the end. 

“Nothing important, just a raging criminal destroying the town,” Ellie says as they finally take off. 

“I’m more important,” Wilson replies and Nathan knows he isn’t joking. He’s surprised Wilson’s head can fit so far up his ass, it’s so big. 

Wilson spends most of the silence musing over the uniform half of them wear, considering trademarking the term X-Force, and then his thoughts, as fucking always, sink back down to dirt. 

Nathan manages to ignore it. It’s something which he thinks of as harmless, or at least at the moment, and he finds himself not giving any fucks. Then Wilson starts to stare, like the unsubtle dumbass he is, so Nathan looks over. It’s hard to see Wilson’s exact gaze through that mask, but Nathan knows he’s looking, and rests his gaze on him like a challenge. 

_If his gaze is this heavy, how heavy would he be on top of me?_ Wilson thinks. 

A feeling not unlike being startled shoots through Nathan as he registers this thought. Of everything Wilson has thought so far, it’s by far the bluntest, most explicitly sexual Nathan has heard from him. 

The not-quite-arousal Wilson is feeling is almost mutual. 

They near the area downtown where havoc is being wreaked and Piotr calls for them to get ready. Nathan shakes off the feeling at the same time Wilson does, standing up so he can get separate and hopefully distance himself. But no, the clumsy fuck has to get up right as the plane rumbles as it comes in to land and falls directly into him. Wilson’s brain devolves back into a mess but Nathan acts like nothing happened, sparing nothing more than a glance to let Wilson know he wants his space. Wilson doesn’t move, so he pulls his BFG out and makes sure to elbow him as he brings his arm back down. It still doesn’t work, the dumb fuck just daydreaming about Wolverine instead of paying attention. 

“You ready?” he asks over the roar of air outside, and finally Wilson snaps back, affirming his question even as his thoughts disagree. Nathan noticed he doesn’t even have his damn weapons to hand. 

“Then get your fucking sword out,” he says, and Wilson does, pairing it with another stupid-ass joke which sets Nathan’s teeth on edge. 

“Fucking …” _asshole, always distracting me_. “Does your mouth ever stop running?” 

Wilson proves him right with a bright, “Nope!” 

“Someone needs to shut it for you.” 

Nathan knows exactly how to get the merc to shut up, knowing two can play at the flirt game. Well, _he’s_ not flirting back in the slightest, just hinting lightly so Wilson’s confusion gets him to stop talking. And it works, briefly. Wilson’s brain freezes as he registers the implication in Nathan’s words, wild images flashing in his head. But then he kicks back into gear. 

“You could do the honors.” 

_Damn, it doesn’t work long_. He backs out because Wilson’s newfound slyness is something he doesn’t want to get into right now. _Or ever_ , he assures himself. “Nah. You’d just grow your tongue back if I shot your mouth off your face,” he replies, and Wilson seems to lose interest, though the spark of hope remains. 

“Suit yourself, ’cause I’m gonna keep talking until the studio cancels my sequels.” 

_Sequels? Studio? The fuck is he on about?_ It’s like Wilson is living his own self-centered movie in his head, where he’s the hero. 

“Your what?” Nathan asks, despite being tired of asking what he means. No time is granted for a reply, though Wilson does think, _ha, made him curious_. 

_I bet you think you did, asshole_ , Nathan thinks bitterly as they move out. Piotr catches him. 

“Remind Wade, he is not allowed to kill anyone. He struggles with rules.” 

Nathan grabs Wilson by the arm just as he’s about to run off to fight, and feels the pleasant shock Wilson gets from it. He tightens his grip. 

“Colossus reminds you, no killing,” he hisses, and even after he’s let go and followed Neena, Wilson just stands there, a tidal wave of confused thoughts about him and, for some reason, Megan Fox. 

“What did you do to him?” Neena asks, following Nathan’s gaze to where Wilson finally gets his shit together and ducks a car which hurtles over his head. They watch as the guy – who they’re probably supposed to be helping to fight – shoots at Wilson, who flies back like something slammed into him. Neena adds, “that’s a lot like your gun.” 

“Didn’t do a thing,” Nathan answers her, knowing she’s expecting a reply. He usually stays out of heads, while Wilson is an exception, but still gets the gist of what people think and want. He can tell Neena’s comment on the gun isn’t a change of subject from her question. 

In the distance, Wilson is getting up, cursing in his head. Neena glances curiously at Nathan. 

“You sure?” 

He sets off moving, ignoring her question this time, and she laughs to herself. Nathan sees Piotr come up behind the guy with the gun, crashing a fist into him that would break anyone else’s spine, but the man twists just in time and manages to land on his feet safely. Nathan can hear Wade’s resentful thoughts about _superhero landings_. 

To his right, Yukio catches the man before he can shoot again and gives Ellie the time to charge up, blasting him further back. The man’s angry thoughts are a jumble of swearing at them and planning to blast Ellie’s head off. 

Nathan stops by Wilson, who seems surprised at his sudden presence, covering it up with a comment about some ‘Ant-Man’. 

“Get behind him,” Nathan says, knowing this is probably a decision he’ll regret, “I’ll knock him towards you, and you use this –” 

He hands the gun he was building to Wilson’s incapable hands. Wilson almost pisses himself in excitement there and then. 

“Wow, I didn’t know it was my birthday,” he says, eyes scouring every inch of the gun like it’s made of gold. Nathan doesn’t want him to kill anyone with it, nor get ideas about keeping it. 

“This is the only time it’s gonna happen,” he says, and Wilson thinks, _aw, damn_. “Trust me. Listen to me.” 

He gets Wilson’s attention and holds his gaze, something which draws Wilson’s eagerness away from the gun, but dangerously close to the territory of his brain that just has the words ‘hard-on’ plastered on it. 

“Don’t touch the tip when it lights up. Just point and hold,” he tells Wilson firmly, knowing if the fucker’s curiosity gets the better of him, he’ll basically get tased to unconsciousness. Even with those regenerative powers, Wade’s muscles would be so fried, he’d be unable to move for a while. “Unless you want to be out of action for a week.” 

“Don’t touch tips. Got it,” Wilson replies facetiously. Nathan almost takes the gun back, but he knows he needs to give Wilson a chance. 

“Go,” he says shortly, turning before anything else can be said. Wilson realizes he has to move to and gets going the opposite way, having a lot more broken road and fallen street signs to get around. 

Nathan sees Neena get the guy’s gun from him easily, using it as a weapon against him, thumping him over the face and back with it. _She really knows how to fight._

Wilson is distracted as he often is, his thoughts blabbering over the fight scene, too busy watching to see where he’s going. Nathan foregoes paying attention to him, letting him learn how to concentrate on his own, knowing if it goes wrong he can blame Wilson. Because, if it _did_ go wrong, it would be Wilson’s fault for staring rather than getting into position. 

He gets ready far before Wilson does and turns his gun dial up to nine, muttering, “come on, jerkoff, fucking hurry up.” 

Wilson finally gets there and waves like he’s waiting on Nathan, so he just nods in reply to tick him off. There’s a long stream of thoughts about the gun as Wilson figures out how to use it, an admiration which for once Nathan isn’t against, because Wilson seems to want to actually be careful. There’s a brief moment where he considers touching the gun tip, but he changes his mind just in time. _Smart move_ , Nathan thinks dryly. 

He doesn’t want to wait anymore. Wilson can be ready or it’ll all be fucked. The man, who is now gunless, sees him as he fires. He is blasted across towards Wilson, who gets his gun up just in time. It works, a high scream echoing as he’s electrocuted. Wilson recoils. Nathan dials his gun back down and makes his way across, to where Wilson is asking stupid questions about the unconscious man in Piotr’s grasp. Nathan, like the others in the house bar Wilson, saw the news two days ago which explained everything. 

“He’s an escaped criminal, dumbass,” he says when nobody tells Wilson. “You’d know if you watched the news.” 

Wilson has an _oh_ moment and quickly replies, “On a computer, there’s a lot more recreational things to watch than the news.” 

_Porn and YouTube_ , his brain adds triumphantly. Nathan feels a prickle of anger at his idiocy. When Wilson is done acting funny to Piotr, Nathan takes the gun back, making sure to remember to never let Wilson touch anything he owns again. 

“Hope you enjoyed holding that ‘cause you’re not touching it again,” he says, as Wilson thinks, _maybe one day I can use it again_. Wilson sighs inside before deciding to get over it. He grins before putting on a pious face. 

“Is that a gun or your dick? The way you talk about it, I can’t tell.” 

Nathan has to restrain himself from using the gun butt on Wilson’s face, choosing to walk away instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to put Cable's telepathy in this fic so I hope it works ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Also, the song Wade is playing at the start is Single Ladies, but Cable doesn't know it. 
> 
> Also remember when Cable called Wade a butt plug? Ah. Good times. 
> 
> EDIT: How the fuck did I write a sentence with the word 'stop' 3 times in a row?!?!?! Fixed


	2. Dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic might be a little slower to come out since I'm back from a trip and back to doing 3 charity jobs bc summer BUT no classes until September means a lot of free time around work! 
> 
> Also, I know it's apparently comic-canon that Cable can't read Wade's mind, and he isn't telepathic in the MCU either (except his psionic shield junk). BUT so many people requested it that it's a thing in this series! Also, he has, like - minor telekinesis in the movie but for the sake of not going OTT I left that out. 
> 
> UFGFGBL I read the C&DP comics and now I can only picture comic Cable when writing which is super unhelpful bc the way I write them feels exclusively MCU, so now I just keep a photo of Josh's Cable up as I write lmao

Nathan puts his BFG and stun gun – there’s probably a better name for it, but he can’t be fucked to think of it right now – by his bed, pulling his vest off. He gives the bear a glance, touches it gently as he puts it back in the corner of his room, before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Something is bothering him, something which shouldn’t be. It’s been coming on for days now, maybe weeks. He hasn’t been paying attention in the hopes it goes away. 

But it’s still there, a new part of himself he resents, the burning of it eating away inside of him. It’s incessant, like a virus, but most of it just causes him anger. 

Wilson is at the center of the problem like a huge red fucking sun, causing all the strife – _no, that sounds weak_ – all the turmoil in him. Nathan pushes his cybernetic hand through his hair, shutting his eyes, feeling that deep-seated unnameable burn, rooted at the back of his mind. 

He refuses to confront it, stopping himself from asking what it could mean, because the implications could be ruinous. So he thinks of his wife, somewhere in the future, safe, and wonders if she misses him. If Hope wonders where he is. 

Thinking of them doesn’t help – it’s probably worse than thinking about his secret, because then it makes him question if saving Wilson was worth it. 

He opens his eyes, steeled. The burning is hate. It can’t be anything else. It’s just an uncontrollable, understandable loathing for Wilson. _Ugh. I’m as fucking disastrous as he is right now_. He gets up, pulling a jacket over his tee and zipping it up, pushing the thoughts far enough away that he feels in control again. That out-of-control feeling is a shitty one. 

He goes out to the grounds of the house, looking up at the blue cloudy sky, a world away – literally – from the gray fiery sky from his time. He hears footsteps and looks round, seeing Neena. She has her hands behind her back with a slight smile on her face, but he can tell from her thoughts that this isn’t a general hello. 

“What?” he asks, and she shrugs. 

“That was friendly. I’m just saying hi.” 

“Of course, huh.” 

She swings her arms out, clapping them in front of herself, then behind. It’s a noise that could become irksome. He watches the movement for a few seconds before fixing her with a flat gaze. 

“If you’re going to say something,” he says, “say it.” 

She raises an eyebrow before stopping the swinging, a thoughtful expression on her face, lips pursed. 

“Are you completely sure you did nothing the other day?” 

He frowns. “What?” 

“You know, at the fight. When you left Wade all frozen.” 

He snorts. “Is that still on your mind? It’s not my fault if he can’t handle being touched.” 

She looks interested. “I think it’s more than that.” 

“Pff. I doubt it.” 

She turns her eyes to the sky as a few birds fly overhead, not meeting his eyes. He watches them too, darkly focused on what Neena’s motives are. Her head is saying, _this guy can’t be so blind_. 

“Where are you going with this?” he asks, trying to draw an answer out. She looks back down and shrugs again, like it’s something she’s nonchalant about. 

“I don’t know,” she says. Pauses. “What would you do if it meant _more?_ ” 

This conversation is not only the longest he’s had with her, but also reaching a topic that Nathan isn’t so sure he wants to get into. 

“What the fuck does ‘more’ mean?” 

She sighs like he’s a child she has to explain something to. “More means more than friends, yeah?” 

He knew exactly what she meant, but wanted her to say it direct, so he would have time to come up with a reply. He’s still stuck now, though, even after she said it. Her eyes travel over his face, searching for a reaction. 

“If he wanted _more than friends_ , I’d shoot him in the damn shin.” 

Her lips curl in a knowing smile. “Yeah, that would probably be tantamount to flirting with him.” 

Something crawls over his skin, maybe a sick kind of curiosity. He finds his hands clenching reflexively. 

“What injury can I give him that wouldn’t be seen as flirting?” he asks through equally clenched teeth. Neena thinks for a moment. She seems to see the flicker in his eyes. 

“Anything which would be fatal to anyone else, probably. Break his neck and he won’t mess with you again.” 

“I bet.” 

He leaves before she can add anymore. Wilson is crossing the grass in front of him, and Nathan is hot with a thrum of anger. _Perfect fucking timing_. 

“Sunny day out, huh?” the obnoxious voice calls across. He stops dead still where he is, but it doesn’t stop Wilson from approaching. “I’m astonished to see you outside. Shocked, even. You had me pretty convinced you were a vampire from the future. You’re pale enough to be one.” 

Nathan knows if he meets Wilson’s gaze, he’ll probably hit him. Listening to him is dangerously close already, Neena’s words lingering like insult to injury alongside Wilson’s arrival. Instead, Nathan points vaguely to Wilson’s slogan tee. 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asks. Wilson raises his eyebrows, or at least his brow. 

“Read it,” he says, with far too much enthusiasm to be reassuring. Nathan frowns, reading it again. But silently. Eventually, Wilson reads it aloud himself. 

“Swiggity swooty, I’m coming for that booty,” he says like it’s meant to be funny. Nathan just looks at it, nonplussed. The phrase somehow gets more and more annoying the more he reads it. 

“What does it mean?” 

Wilson lifts his hands, palms up. “No idea. But the kids are saying it, so it’s relevant. And super fucking cheap from Walmart.” 

His brain whispers, _swiggity swable, I’m coming for that Cable_ , and a smile twitches over his face. Nathan can’t stand the text any longer, moving his eyes away. He hopes Wilson burns the fucking shirt. What he’s wearing other than the shirt is far more interesting suddenly, or maybe just less infuriating, regardless of how simple it is. Black jeans and white sneakers have never had so much appeal until now. Wilson notices he’s stopped listening and stops talking about pop culture for a moment. 

“Your shirt is fucking terrible,” Nathan says, lifting his gaze. 

“Your taste isn’t current,” Wilson fires back. 

“I don’t need to be from now to know that.” 

“What, are you a fashion designer from the future? Right now it’s all hoop earrings, skinny skinny jeans and Tumblr.” 

Half of the things he says either make no sense or sound like shitty choices, so Nathan takes it that he won’t ever be attached to the modern day he’s now trapped in. He looks back to the house, considering going back inside. But there is even fucking _less_ to do there. 

“Yeah,” he says, turning back to Wilson. “That sounds like something I don’t like.” 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Wilson replies, mock kind. “Look at you. You’re rocking those jeans. Don’t be scared to try out a soft sweater or muscle shirt. Those are also in.” 

His thoughts clearly lie less in giving fashion tips and more in just hoping to see Nathan in something he considers an attractive item of clothing. 

“Maybe not,” Nathan says, half to himself. 

Wilson looks down at him. “It was just a suggestion, white Cyborg.” 

Nathan has had enough for the day. 

“I’m going back in,” he says. No use in making an excuse up, since his dislike for Wilson is always obvious. 

“Make sure you put aftersun on,” Wilson calls after him, but his traitor of a brain is saying, _stay with me a little longer_. 

*

It’s midnight and Nathan can’t fucking sleep. He puts it down to that anger which rests in his bones, in the pit of his stomach, in the depths of his thoughts. It’s always dragged out when Wilson provokes him. He gets up from where he’s been lying, on top of the bedsheets for hours, and leaves his room. 

The house is quiet. He makes his way to the kitchen, or at least what constitutes as one, the main area of the room a sitting area with a television, the kitchen area pushed to the very back behind a counter. A short refrigerator and a coffee machine, a blender and cereal boxes, half of them opened. 

It’s not much, but he prefers it like this. 

Nathan pulls on his shoulder to loosen out a crick down the side of his neck, before stopping and standing in the middle of the dark room. He glances upwards. 

All of the others seem to be asleep, no active thoughts reaching him that aren’t dreams. 

Unlike them, he can’t sleep right now. Maybe the news is showing something interesting. Nathan picks up the remote and presses it on, turning the volume down low and the subtitles on, so he doesn’t really have to pay attention. If it’s dull enough, it could lull him to at least doze until morning. _God. Makes me sounds old._

The broadcast is covering the day’s events, the woman on screen explaining that the criminal with the gun – a man named Fry Miller, a pretty shitty name in Nathan’s opinion – was arrested promptly once handed over by X-Force. There’s blurry camera footage incorporated from reporters at the scene. Nathan sees a brief shot of Ellie, then the screen shakes as the cameraperson dodges a flying piece of glass. He sees himself and Neena for a couple of seconds, and the screen cuts to Wilson, who looks like a fucking clown. Nathan crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back, eyes half shut. Tiredness isn’t reaching him yet. 

Time drags on. There is a recap of the day’s main news stories. A dog’s escape from a hospital, the death of some middle-aged celebrity, new high-school rules. It’s all useless shit he doesn’t need to know. The clock hits one in the morning and he’s seriously considering switching it off. 

A door opens and soft footsteps come towards him. He doesn’t react as Wilson – _of course it’s Wilson_ – walks in, keeping his eyes on the screen, though he’s not watching it. Wilson glances at him first, then the news. His brain says, _what the fuck is he doing awake?_

Nathan taps the remote with a fingertip, listening as Wilson opens the refrigerator. His voice bursts out loud in the quiet room, grating and unwarranted. 

“You watching the news again?” 

He’s thinking, _holy shit, my voice is probably annoying. More to his ears than usual_. Nathan doesn’t care for the news, but he guesses he technically _is_ watching it. 

“I guess I am,” he replies, and Wilson’s thoughts cryptically whisper, _fuck_. Then the man says another one of his meaningless references which, even with telepathy, Nathan doesn’t understand. So he just returns it with a frown, letting Wilson clearly see that he doesn’t think he sounds smart making shit up. Wilson just lifts the carton of juice in his hand, twists the lid off and puts it to his lips. Nathan thinks, _for fuck’s sake, he’s like a child_. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” he says once Wilson lowers the carton, propping his elbow on the back of the couch, an expression of growing revulsion on his face. Wilson says nothing but his thoughts show his triumph at getting a rise to his unhygienic behavior. He’s noisy in putting the carton back too, throwing the carton with a sloshing crash back onto a shelf, slamming the door so that the interior rattles. In the previous quiet, it’s cacophonous, and deeply irritating. Nathan turns a cold stare onto Wilson as the man crosses the room towards his couch. 

“Are you always so fucking inconsiderate?” he asks, but he can already tell it will be given some immature rhetorical answer. Wilson waits until he’s kicked back onto the couch to affirm his reply. His brain says, very privately, _we’re touching_. 

All Nathan can feel is the fucking legs which are lying over his knees. He pushes them off twice without looking down, and the third time, he looks down as he shoves, almost driven to breaking one of Wilson’s ankles as retaliation. But he keeps his temper cool, simply stopping trying. It’s not like Wilson’s legs are that much of an inconvenience, just dense. Wilson’s heels dig in as he shifts himself into a leisurely pose, all while his brain is shouting, _my ass fucking hurts on this shitty seat, why did I do this?_ Nathan almost finds it funny. 

The news is showing some bright flashing party, the screen filled with skin and glowsticks and strobe lights. Nathan finds himself somehow less interested than before. Sitting on this old couch has brought the crick back into his neck, the line of stiffness reaching down his back now, like his spine is tensed. He stretches his shoulders and feels the tightness click free, and he sighs as the crick goes away again. Next to him, Wilson’s brain erupts into something he can’t distinguish. 

The party subsides and Nathan knows he should probably try to sleep, because now it’s goddamn almost two in the morning and he has no excuses to keep sitting here with Wilson. He lets Wilson know of his intention to leave, but it gets absolutely zero response. 

“Move your legs,” he says, because maybe the ass is stupider than he gives credit for. Wilson thinks, _just a little longer_. 

“You never say please or thank you, do you?” he says, by means of changing the subject, but Nathan isn’t fooled. _I’d only say it if you deserved it_ , he thinks, before repeating his demand. Wilson tries to nestle further into the couch like a dumb fucking animal trying to hibernate in its recesses. 

“But it’s so cosy,” he says, with the exact intonation of a child trying to whine its way to a compromise. _No, not a compromise. He just wants his way_. Nathan wants his legs off. For some reason, it’s fucking boiling with Wilson so close to him, like he’s a human volcano. 

“Not really,” he replies, eyes drifting over to where Wilson is pretending to fall asleep, “you radiate far too much heat to be normal.” 

This exchange goes on until finally, Wilson is motivated to move. Nathan turns the television off and tells the distracted merc to try and get some sleep. Maybe if he sorts out his sleep schedule, the asshole can be asleep and awake at different times to him. Less interactions would be good for them both. As he leaves, he throws one last insult back so Wilson stops thinking, _wow, he cares about me_. 

Nathan reminds himself to stop reading the thoughts of anyone in this entire fucking place. 

Morning eventually comes and it opens up a whole new day of nothing. 

Nathan somehow manages to spend an entire day doing fuck all, as seems to be normal in this house. He dismantles and rebuilds his entire arsenal (twice), organises his room (even though it didn’t need it, so it’s more moving shit and putting it back) and manages to hold a conversation for more than twenty seconds with Piotr in the kitchen. 

Most of the talk revolves around Wilson. It’s all Nathan finding out how the jackass actually found his way into a team far above him, asking how Piotr keeps Wilson when Ellie visibly wants to kill him, and finally ends with Piotr pointing out that Wilson and Nathan have the right chemistry to be on X-Force. It’s a very strangely sage piece of advice and Nathan can’t tell if it’s a regrettable conversation yet. The second he hears that cacophony of thoughts coming down the hall, he leaves Piotr on his own, exiting the kitchen far before Wilson can see him. Sat outside on a windowsill, idly on a phone, he finds Neena. 

She doesn’t even look over as she says, “running away from Wade?” 

Nathan doesn’t reply, but he does frown. She finally looks over with a smile growing. Shoves the phone in her pocket, jumps down, hands on hips. 

“You know, I’m not blind,” she says. He doesn’t fully understand the knowing expression on her face, squinting a fraction. But he keeps out of her head, like he promised himself he would. Her smile grows a bit slyer. 

“What?” he asks, probably a little more brusque than she expected, but Neena isn’t fazed by much. She shrugs, pursing her lower lip as she looks away. 

“Nothing,” she replies, so unconvincing it must be deliberate. It’s like when he talks to Wilson, going around in circles until he hits a dead end, and it’s hard to tell if it’s just the humor of this time. He goes to walk past her, but she sticks a hand out to hit his chest. Nathan stops and gives her an exceedingly pissed _what now?_ face. 

“Pay more attention to Wade,” she whispers, though it’s more of a mock whisper, half joking. “Keep an eye on him. He’s very into metal men.” 

*

Nathan brushed off Neena’s words with a _sure_ , but they keep coming back to him. It doesn’t mean he’s now feeling anything new, other than suspicion for everything Wilson does. He’s now reading into past conversations, things Wilson has done. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least. He doesn’t want there to be anything. What he and Wilson have – he would laugh before ever calling it a friendship, but whatever shitty relationship it is, he doesn’t want to lose it. 

Like he said, Wilson is a lot easier to hold repartee with. 

_That’s all._

He can’t sleep again because of what Neena said. He can hear the buzz of Wilson’s thoughts, and it’s irritating, because he knows if he does anything, the merc will follow. But it’s excruciating to do nothing. It’s not insomnia – he knows that much, as he opens his door and walks to the kitchen, pausing by Wilson’s door briefly – just sleeplessness from something like … not stress, but he can’t put his finger on it. 

Nathan fixes on just making a shake, since he can’t think of much else to do. He glances at the clock. Eleven fifty six. It’s been barely ten minutes when he hears Wilson’s door open. Stifling a sigh, Nathan just keeps making the shake. Wilson’s brain is falling over itself, as normal. He tries to hide it by leaning on the counter, when in reality, it’s the least natural thing he could do. _Nailed it_ , Wilson thinks. 

_No, you fucking didn’t _, Nathan thinks, raising his eyebrow. He looks over with just his eyes when Wilson doesn’t say anything. He keeps making his shake. _Make up your mind. Speak or fuck off_. Like he heard, Wilson starts to talk about cocaine. Nathan knows he wanted Wilson to say something but he somehow imagined more intelligent conversation. This is far from intelligent conversation, so he doesn’t reply. It gets to a point when Wilson’s voice is just getting on his nerves, though. __

____

____

“I’m not interested,” he says sharply, cutting across Wilson’s offer. He stops listening to anything else that comes out of Wilson’s mouth until he notices no movement. 

He’d have thought by now that Wilson could get hints, but it seems he was wrong again. 

“Why are you still here?” he eventually asks, tired of waiting. 

“What do lawyers wear in court?” 

_What the fuck? How is that relevant at all? Is it a joke or some kind of diversion?_ Nathan has no idea, so he just tells Wilson he can’t care less, but in a less subtle way. 

“I don’t fucking care.” 

There’s a flash of elation in Wilson’s mind, a voice saying, _got him_. 

“Lawsuits.” 

It takes Nathan a moment to register it. He’s quiet for a moment, unsure of how to react. It makes him think of his wife, that dry sort of joke. The worst ones used to make her laugh hardest. While he never fully understood why, he had never minded. Hearing Wilson tell one of those shitty puns makes him almost angry, because of all the people to make him reminisce, it has to be _this_ fucker. 

He realises he hasn’t said anything, and Wilson is waiting for a reaction. 

“That was awful,” he decides on saying. Wilson’s thoughts fire up into a _fuck yeah! He secretly loved that_. 

Wilson still isn’t fucking leaving, like he’s accidentally glued himself to the counter and is trying to pretend he isn’t stuck. Nathan takes his time making the shake and Wilson is _still there_. Suspicion prickles over into mistrust as Neena’s words creep back up into his mind. 

“You got nothing better to do?” he asks. It’s the nicest way he can put it before directly telling Wilson to fuck off. 

“Not really,” Wilson answers, in that way that makes Nathan want to hit him in the gut. Time drags on and so far, Wilson has ignored or somehow missed all the hints Nathan is dropping. His thoughts then whisper, _Cable seems pretty mad at me, but I’ll just keep on playing dumb_. Nathan feels a dark ripple of anger. Wilson tries to be funny, then notices it isn’t going anywhere, so he reverts to his default of just being crude. _He’s so 2D_. Nathan picks up the almond milk he got out, then sees Wilson’s ass is leaning right on the refrigerator. Too deep in his thoughts to notice once again, Wilson doesn’t see him waving the carton. He only snaps back once Nathan catches his gaze and holds it. 

_Why is all our eye contact so intense?_ Wilson thinks frantically. Nathan feels a tightness in his mouth as a smile almost reaches him. _Because_ , he thinks, holding the eye contact long enough that Wilson starts to sweat, _it’s the only fucking way to get you to notice, for some reason_. 

“You gonna move out of the way so I can put this back?” he asks, letting the amusement at Wilson’s predicament linger for a few seconds. Dirty thoughts flash across the merc’s mind as he moves out of the way. Nathan is conscious of the strife Wilson is going through mentally, but doesn’t really give a shit. 

“I hope to _fuck_ ,” he says as he places the carton back and looks up at Wilson, “you didn’t drink from this too.” 

Admittedly, Nathan can’t imagine anything ‘healthy’ like rye bread or almond milk coming within a foot of the fucker’s mouth. As expected, Wilson gives some joking referential reply he doesn’t particularly listen to. He’s concentrating more on other things. As he stands, Wilson’s thoughts shift from filthy to height jokes. Nathan stops paying attention, picking up his shake glass and drinking it straight, but it seems like a mistake to have done it in front of Wilson. 

_Where was he taught to drink, the College of Porn? There is no way in real life someone drinks like it’s such a leisurely thing to do,_ Wilson's brain shouts. 

It’s unsubtle and so loud, Nathan almost chokes on the shake. _Where did that come from? I’m_ drinking _. How is he so fucked over nothing?_ He puts the glass down hard, staring at Wilson, trying to read his face. Maybe what Neena said was somehow actually true, in some horrific twist of fate. Nathan’s alarm quickly burns into that familiar anger. 

_I hope this is all some fucking joke._

“I’m gonna go wash this,” he says, picking the glass back up, dangerously close to smashing it over Wilson’s face, because he has no idea how to react otherwise, “and when I turn around, you had better be gone.” 

Disappointment floods through Wilson as he indignantly replies, “I live here too.” 

“You don’t live in this damn _kitchen_ , though, now do you?” Nathan grates out. Under his metal hand, the glass creaks ominously. He tries to pull his temper back in, telling himself it’s not like him to be so riled up. But it’s _Wilson’s fault_. 

Wilson seems to be leaving, a relief for a minute, but he stops and says one last fucking thing about cocaine which hits Nathan’s limit. Neena’s words are like a torment because if she’s _right_ , if Wilson somehow feels _something_ , he can’t understand _why_. 

The glass in his hand breaks. It’s a sharp sound in the quiet kitchen, the shards dropping down until it’s silent again. Wilson thinks, _oh, shit. Maybe I took it too far_. His mouth says, “You have to clean that up. Colossus has soft feet.” 

Nathan, at this point in time, couldn’t fucking care less. He looks at the doorway when Wilson is finally gone, the sound of his bedroom door clicking shut. 

_Pay more attention to Wade_ , Neena had said. 

“Fucking bullshit,” he says, to nobody in particular. 

Nathan picks up all the glass in his cybernetic hand and tips it into the trash. For a moment, he stands in the kitchen, listening to Wilson’s thoughts. He can feel something inside him burning, and it’s probably anger. It gets to a point where Wilson’s imagination is making everything worse, so he shuts it out. Some kind of stupid fucking movie scenario he wants to pretend he didn’t see. 

Whatever Wilson thinks he’s feeling, it’s got to be a mistake. The merc might be the type who is literally willing to fuck anything and everything, but Nathan somehow finds the idea of that affection ever landing on _him_ purely ridiculous. Not once has he shown anything but dislike for Wilson – nothing could ever have been misconstrued. Wilson seems clingy and ignorant, though. He’d probably assume “I fucking hate you” means “sleep with me”. 

It makes Nathan feel a deep-seated loathing far more than before. 

But it gives him pause, if only for a second, when he wonders _why_ the thought of it bothers him so much. He sits on the couch, resting his chin in his hand. A soft buzz –Wilson and Ellie’s voices – comes through his closed window. 

_Maybe it’s the fact that we’re so different. We would never be compatible, even as friends. And that fucker is so damn irritating. Why couldn’t he choose Piotr or someone else? Even that coward friend of his._

He needs to stop thinking about it. Anything would be good as a distraction right now. He turns the television on so he can’t hear Wilson anymore. To his dismay, Wilson walks back into the room, and stops next to him. It’s taking all of his self-restraint to not break the asshole’s face. 

“I swear to fucking Christ, Wilson,” he says, holding his wrist with his other hand to stop himself, “I will get the broken glass back out of the trash and force it into your eyes.” 

“Don’t be so sadistic, bud. I’m here for a truce,” Wilson answers with a childish smile, and for some reason he’s telling the truth. He looks at the television. _Huh_ , he thinks, _haven’t seen this in a while. Kinda want to watch some._

“Sit down next to me and I’ll twist your foot until you can fit it behind your head twice,” Nathan says, the threat meant to deter Wilson from sitting down. Wilson just chooses to sit as close as he can anyway. Trying to concentrate on the screen, Nathan hasn’t got much of an idea what’s going on. Wilson is thinking, _mm, Rachel. Mm, Joey. It’s been a looong time._ Nathan tries to tell who on the screen are Rachel and Joey, but can’t particularly find enough interest to do so. Wilson looks at him. 

“Are you actually watching this?” he asks. 

Nathan replies, “No.” 

“Then why have it on?” _You got a crush on Matt LeBlanc?_

“Because it was on.” 

Wilson says something about a Graham Norton and a Ryan Reynolds which Nathan doesn’t understand. _Must be some celebrities._ He stops replying, too tired and frustrated with Wilson’s existence. He sits back, running a hand through his hair. Wilson is watching him. 

“This episode is shit. Change it,” he says after a while. His voice brings back the annoyance Nathan is trying to currently trying to suppress. 

“What are you, twelve? I’m not watching this for you,” he answers, with more anger than he intends. _I’m not even watching it, but still_ – “Go entertain yourself.” 

“I would,” Wilson replies without a pause, “but the doctor said I’d go blind if I did it too much.” 

He’s _insufferable_. Nathan wonders if Wilson has gone a day of adulthood where he didn’t piss off everyone he spoke to. It’s almost unbelievable that he had a steady relationship. 

Nathan has never been one to hope, but he finds himself hoping he’s wrong in his suspicions. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot that TO virus ref? No idea if MCU Cable is cybernetic only or if they're gonna bring TO in sooo 
> 
> Also sorry if Domino is OOC! I'm not 100% sure on how to write her but I hope it's okay! (Didja see her Hannibal ref? ;) ) 
> 
> Swiggity swooty idea from my sister. 
> 
> WOWIE it took me ages to bring this out, sorry y'all! But it's a lot longer and has a lot more of the amazing Domino so I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Chapter title from Taylor Swift's Delicate.


	3. Say my name and everything just stops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES this took ages, sorry! I've been procrastinating so bad cause I couldn't figure out where to go for a while. But now I've got Chapter 3 done and I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> If you want something to do between chapters, I've got an edit account on IG (where I have a few DP2 edits ;) 
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/brucestoast

“You look mad.”

Nathan brings his gaze away from Wilson to find Neena looking at him. 

“No more than usual,” he replies, and she smiles. 

“I’m sure,” she says, eyes roaming over to where Wilson is trying to play Rock Paper Scissors with Ellie, who is faking interest in looking at the ceiling. Nathan clears his throat, and Neena looks back, one eyebrow higher than the other. 

“You teaming up with him again?” she asks, to which he shrugs. 

“I have no preference.” 

Her ‘mm-hm’ sounds suspicious. As they stand to depart, she nudges him with an elbow. “You can come with me. He can go with Colossus.” 

Nathan tells himself he can’t care less, but also feels a strange sense of relief at her words. This unfamiliarity prickles at him like a weakness. 

They go the opposite way to the others, moving round to see their target. 

“It’s a kid,” Neena says. It’s a mutant which makes Nathan think of Russell. It sets him on edge instantly, and his hand tightens automatically on the trigger of his pistol. She seems to see, because she holds a hand out. 

“Give it a moment.” 

_I wasn’t going to –_ He stops himself, shaking his head. He can’t lie that his instinct to kill has gone away at all. All while he has to remind Wilson to hold back, he has to do the same, remembering back when it was Wilson pleading with him for a chance. _Do we seriously have something in common?_

“Ready?” Neena asks, and he follows. The mutant boy blocks Ellie’s attack, the ground juddering beneath them from the clash. The burst of air is like a small explosion, sending the crushed front half of a car towards them. Nathan gets behind Neena, crouching and pulling his BFG out, not needing to look as the car crashes down behind them. He fires at the kid, sending him reeling away from Ellie. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan sees Wilson. 

_Don’t think of him._

He moves quick past Neena, who has her nonchalant expression on (a _did you see that?_ feeling of triumph radiates from her), and reaches the kid. The mutant boy regains his balance and, still doubled over, swipes a rock arm at him. It deflects off Nathan’s shield. It only takes one kick to the face to make the kid think what have _I done?_ as he goes down. 

Across the dust and wreckage, Piotr shouts “No killing!” and Nathan pulls back, thinking, _I damn well know already_. Wilson’s mirth throws him off and he almost misses when he puts his foot back down, managing to land it on the kid’s back. The mutant boy still thinks he can get away, pulling at the ground, but the pain shooting through his face and back is slowing him. Nathan, on the other hand, doesn’t look at him anymore. He looks vaguely skyward, hearing Piotr trying to get Wilson’s attention. It takes six repeats of his name for the idiot to finally listen. Piotr sends Wilson to go get a power-blocking collar. Nathan watches him. When Wilson looks back, it feels like a long silent stretch of time. _Eye contact across a battlefield?_ Wilson is thinking. It’s like we’re soulmates or something. We’re only missing the slow-motion. 

Nathan tears his eyes free when he gets a suspicious vibe from Neena behind him, pushing Wilson’s thoughts to the back of his mind. The kid rests his chin on the back of a hand. Neena saunters up and looks down at the kid, who has tired himself out by now. 

Wilson begins to make his way over to them, and it’s only about fifteen feet, but he seems like he’s struggling. Ellie comments on it, and Wilson gives some halfhearted reply, too busy concentrating to fully answer her. 

“You’re taking your sweet fucking time,” Nathan calls after a very long minute. Wilson doesn’t look like he’s getting anywhere closer. 

“Only for you, handsome,” is his out-of-breath reply. Nathan lets out a ‘tch’, a sharp exhale which is almost a laugh, incredulous at Wilson’s words. Slipping and tripping, Wilson is thinking about how Piotr probably set him up, his pace slow. The kid looks up at Nathan as best as he can, craning his head to the side as far as it goes. 

“I thought you guys were meant to be, I don’t know …” he pauses halfway, searching for a phrase. “… Good at your job. Your boyfriend looks ridiculous.” 

Nathan doesn’t rise to the bait, just telling the kid to shut his mouth as he leans more weight onto his back. Wilson seizes the chance, his brain coming to life with possible quips. 

“Yeah,” he calls, raising a finger, “it’s fuckbuddy, actually.” 

_Fuck him to hell and back. Why would he say that? I’m trying to get this done like a – professional, and he can’t keep quiet for more than a minute?_ Nathan thinks, that anger he had temporarily blanked coming straight back, breeding murder into his eyes. Neena doesn’t miss Wilson’s comment, giving him a bemused look, which he tries to brush off with a frown even as his blood is hot with anger. 

Wilson reaches them after what feels like forever. He stoops down to put the mutant collar on the kid, and it’s using all of Nathan’s self-control to not kick him in the throat. Once he’s done and stepped back, Wilson steps back to catch his breath. Neena makes fun of him for his lack of fitness, and he doesn’t have a very smart reply. She departs first, walking over the rubble which had somehow given Wilson so much trouble. Nathan pulls the kid to his feet, and Wilson glances over. 

“I don’t miss that,” he says, and it makes Nathan think of when he met Wilson, and it’s strangely familiar to him – both long ago, and yet it feels like yesterday. _How cliché_ , Wilson would say. The mutant kid perks up as he figures out a reply he considers biting. 

“What, you wore it in the bedroom?” he asks, barely finishing the sentence before Nathan yanks on the collar to shut his mouth. It works on him fine, but of course, Wilson’s mouth is still free to spout shit. 

“Actually, no,” he says, hesitating for only a nanosecond when he sees the _don’t_ in Nathan’s eyes, “he did.” 

It’s so close to crossing the line. _No, scratch that. It fucking crossed the line with a signature on it._ Nathan tightens his cybernetic hand so hard it feels like his arm cables will break. But while Wilson can’t die, he can’t let himself lash out like he has no self-control. He’ll save this hatred for later, when Wilson expects it least, and he’s going to make him pay. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he says as he walks past Wilson, the seriousness of the promise clear in his tone, and he feels the thrill that goes through Wilson. 

He gets the kid to Piotr and leaves him. Everything about the world is pissing him off right now – from its shitty politics to the people in it. Nathan gets one of those rare moments – the ones almost exclusively caused by Wilson – where he wishes he had just gone back home instead of saving the dumb fucker. The carrier ride back is painfully silent, and he can see Neena eyeing him, but she thinks and says nothing. 

The second they touch down, he’s gone, wanting nothing more than a hard drink and fucking escape. Walking alone down the wood corridors, he manages to bring his mood back down to a complete neutral. That burn is back, steady as always, and he wants to drown it in cold bottled beer. He can hear Wilson having a similar idea and suddenly, being alone in the kitchen might give Nathan perfect payback timing. He takes another bottle out ready to give to Wilson. He passes it across as soon as Wilson walks in, and the merc barely catches it against his red spandex chest. 

“How did you know I wanted one?” he asks, and Nathan gives some generic bullshit response he knows won’t be questioned. He bites the cap off the bottle, letting Wilson get comfortable, biding his time. He watches Wilson’s face as he drinks. Fake friendly. 

“We should all pitch in and get you a gym membership for your birthday,” he says after a little while, remembering what Neena was saying. Wilson laughs. 

“Waste of money, Sin City,” he says, the reference meaning jackshit to Nathan. He reaches to pull his mask up as he speaks. “I’d rip it up and go back to Taco Bell.” 

Nathan doesn’t want to wait any longer. He drives a sucker punch directly into Wilson’s body with his cybernetic hand, aiming for his liver. All the air is expelled from Wilson’s chest as he falls back, hitting the wall, his bottle rolling across the floor. No sympathy reaches Nathan as he stands over him. Wilson coughs without air. 

“Oh my god. I think you just ruptured one of my lungs,” he gasps. 

“It’ll heal, don’t be such a bitch,” Nathan replies, drinking from his bottle as he waits. Someone called Francis crosses Wilson’s mind. He’s just making excuses at this point, stalling so he can regenerate the mess that’s probably inside him. 

“Get up so I can hit you again,” is Nathan’s unfeeling reply. Wilson thinks, _shit_. He leans back on his hand for a moment, trying to figure out his situation. 

“What for?” he asks in genuine confusion. Then it hits him. “Oh, yeah. The death promise.” 

“Yeah,” Nathan answers. He lowers his arm, the bottle swinging loosely. “Get up.” 

“So all that beer stuff,” Wilson manages to say as he slowly makes his way up to his feet. “Was that fake friendship?” 

“No,” Nathan lies, “I just forgot for a moment.” 

Wilson tries to make an age joke and doesn’t get enough time, because Nathan swings his beer bottle into his head. It sends Wilson reeling as he yells in both pain and anger, raising his hands to his face instinctively. 

“Why do you even –” He pulls a piece of glass from his mask where his left eye is – “want to kill me? Fragile masculinity? Internalised homophobia?” 

Nathan watches him spit glass, blindly trying to get the glass from his skin. 

“I’m sick of your shitty attitude, Wilson,” he replies, because maybe Wilson is somehow unaware of how much Nathan hates him. It seems to be mutual at the moment. “You can look like a fool in front of everyone, running around like a jackass in front of civilians, but you always drag me into it when I’m trying to do my job.” 

“I thought your job was killing children –” 

He doesn’t finish because Nathan tears his mask off, and his thoughts for a second blink _imagine if he kissed me_ before he’s cut off again as Nathan takes his face in his cybernetic hand, holding tight enough to hurt. Wilson grabs his hand, but can’t prise the fingers off. 

“My job,” Nathan says in a low voice, trying to hold his temper back, “is to stop the world from falling apart before my time, you _fuck_. Anyone could be the next Russell and –” He tightens his grip – “I don’t need you fucking around like a dumbass six year old.” 

Wilson is tugging at his wrist, teeth clenched from the exertion. 

“Who sat on your face and ruined your day?” he gets out, trying to joke through the pain. It reminds Nathan of his wife first, and then conjures up the memory of Wilson landing on him that he had repressed. He lets go, letting Wilson fall. 

“You did, actually,” he replies, trying to rid his head of the offensive image. He distracts himself by finding Wilson’s dropped bottle. By some miracle, it’s uncracked. He takes it as compensation for the bottle he smashed across Wilson’s face, finishing it as he watches Wilson use the counter to pull himself up. He lifts a hand to point, and it’s just sad to look at, really, since he’s barely steady. 

“Indirect kiss,” he says, trying to hide the lack of air in his lungs. Nathan lowers the bottle, thinking, _that’s twice now he’s thought about fucking kissing, where is he trying to go?_

“Careful,” is his measured reply, “unless you want to be pulling teeth from your stomach.” 

Wilson knows from his tone of voice it’s true, and he shuts up for a moment. His mind is running over what Nathan said. He snorts, rubbing the back of his head. 

“’You did’. This universe only has a limited space for one-liners …” 

Nathan stops listening for a few seconds, since Wilson has gone on one of his weird referential tangents again. He puts the bottle down. 

“I’ve seen a lot in my time,” he says, half to himself, shaking his head, “and that was probably one of the worst.” 

He tries to get the sensation out of his memory. Wilson is physically so fucking dense and landing all his weight directly onto his head had hurt like a bitch, but he has to admit now, it probably just hurt his pride worse. Wilson laughs again, that kind-of hoarse snort. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says, the image playing in his head. “Red rocket coming your way.” 

Nathan sees Neena before Wilson does, so the dumbass is still talking as she walks in. She glances at him, morbidly curious. 

“Red what?” she asks, and Wilson half jumps in surprise. She looks between them and the remains of the bottle that is strewn across the floor, all the way to the television. Wilson, like the man-child he is, tries to pin the blame on Nathan when she sighs. As she looks back around, she waves a hand in a vague whatever motion. 

“I’m sure I don’t want to know, but make sure you clean it up. Colossus –” 

“Has soft feet,” Wilson butts in loudly. His eyes find Nathan as if he wants an affirmation. “I already said that.” 

“Calm down, Red,” she replies patiently. “Nobody’s threatening your comedy routine.” 

As she’s speaking, she turns and leaves. Nathan doesn’t want to stay in a room any longer with Wilson, his mind returning to those strange thoughts. He pushes his hair back, partly to get the loose strands back in place, but mostly to do something to break the stillness of the room. He walks over the glass. 

“You can do it,” he explains when he finds indignant eyes on him. “You caused it.” 

“Aw,” Wilson answers. Pauses. Thinks, _I wonder if in some alternate universe, it turned into a badly-plotted porn_. Adds, “you didn’t kill me though. At least choke me if you aren’t a coward.” 

Nathan wants to humor him, almost. See how it long it would take until he passed out, if he would regret the challenge. But he doesn’t. 

“Yet,” he responds without emotion. “And I’m not satisfying your sick fantasies. You want someone to choke you? Go string yourself up.” 

Wilson reacts with mock horror and a gasp. “Too far,” he says, hands on his face. “Death by autoerotic asphyxiation jokes aren’t funny.” 

Nathan can’t take anymore. He walks out. 

“Dick,” he mutters, hearing Wilson kick a piece of glass. He wants to get out, at least for a while. He knows a place he can guarantee will let him in, but half doesn’t want to go. He almost stalls, but forces himself to keep walking. A voice at the back of his head is saying, _you should go back, don’t go there. Fuck you_ , he thinks in response to the voice, _I’m getting a damn drink._

The complete fear on Wilson’s friend’s face when he walks in is almost funny. He’s surrounded by the clicking of guns as every patron in the room points a weapon at him. Weasel fumbles for a moment, pulling his own little gun out. 

Nathan turns his head to the side, seeing the wave of muzzles out of the corner of his eye. 

“I’m just here to drink,” he says. 

“You’d better be,” Weasel replies, bravado giving him volume but not hiding the shake in his voice. A long stretch of silence follows where Nathan meets his eyes and holds his hands up, begrudging. Weasel stares for a second before waving at the rest of the bar. The sound of multiple safeties being put back on and triggers released tracks Nathan as he sits at the bar. Weasel looks at him. 

_That’s where Wade normally sits_ , he thinks. Nathan almost, _almost_ , rolls his eyes. 

“Something strong,” he says, and Weasel keeps a close eye on him as he turns away. Nathan looks vaguely around and sees a drink written on a board. _Blowjob. Huh. I guess Wade was telling the truth_. He stops still, a furrow in his brow. _Did I just call Wilson ‘Wade’?_

“Here.” 

Weasel puts a drink in front of him, then notices the distance in Nathan’s eyes. “Uh. It’s a Fucked Up Motherfucker. You had one before?” 

When he gets no reply, he shrugs like he doesn’t care, but he’s thinking, _I can’t say a thing about what Wade told me_. This interests Nathan, just to a small degree, and he fixes his gaze on Weasel. The man is already sweating. His thoughts are so easy, it’s probably what Wilson would compare to a movie. 

“What does Wilson normally have to drink?” Nathan asks naturally. Weasel visibly stiffens where he stands, mouth slack as he searches for an answer. 

“Uh, Wade? It changes.” 

“You talk to him much?” 

“Yes. I mean, yeah, of course.” 

“What about?” 

Weasel is definitely sweating, there’s a sheen on his forehead. “What about? Uh, anything.” 

“Humor me,” Nathan replies coolly. “Specifics.” 

Weasel’s brain screams, _mancrushmancrushmancrush_ , but he manages to keep a straight face. 

“You know,” he says, voice hitching. “The usual. Vanessa. Dopinder.” 

_You_ , he thinks. Nathan thought he’d feel some kind of … some kind of _anything_. Not triumph, but maybe at least a sense of satisfaction that he knew what was going on with Wilson. But no, it isn’t even close to that. It’s more like _dread_. Because he _was_ right, and now he doesn’t know what to do with this information. 

He stands up abruptly, the screech of his stool scaring Weasel. Heads turn towards them, a warning. 

“Easy,” he says, “I’m leaving.” 

“Finish your drink first or at least pay for it,” Weasel mumbles. Cable tosses a ten dollar bill down. Weasel drags it towards him across the countertop reluctantly. He looks up. “That’s not en … whatever. Tell Wade I said hi, and tell him –” 

He hesitates, then as cryptically as possible, adds, “tell him to, uh … be honest. With himself. Yeah.” 

Nathan doesn’t reply, leaving in silence, because his mind is running over what he’s learned. So far, he’s found out that his suspicions, as certain as they had been, had just been confirmed. Neena wasn’t lying. It heaves a sigh from him as he returns to the mansion. Like before, it falls down to his disbelief about the whole situation. He dislikes Wilson, bordering on hate sometimes. He’s pretty sure it’s noticeable – so why would Wilson want anything more than friends? It bothers the shit out of him, because it’s making him doubt himself, and putting more focus on that corrosion inside of him. 

_Corrosion_ is the best word he can find for it. 

He pauses as he’s in the corridor. He left his door almost closed, and now it’s swung inwards fully. Wilson is emanating from inside the room. 

_What a seriously dull man_ , he’s thinking. _No Playboy magazines, no weed. Not even a pack of Trojans_. Nathan moves at a quicker pace, not panicked, just feeling a low prickle of anger. Wilson has the privacy sense of a child. He enters the room to see Wilson holding that carton of juice in one hand and his old ID. 

“Did I give you permission to come in?” he asks, the question rhetorical as he takes it from Wilson’s hand as the merc tries to reply. Pushing the ID into his pocket, he feels the anger melt away as he sees all of the drawers open, like Wilson was trying to find something. He frowns. “You’re like a fucking roach. I could kick you until you couldn’t breathe and you’d still find a way to irritate me.” 

Wilson is undeterred as he meets his gaze. 

“There are probably nicer ways to stop me from speaking, _Nathan_.” 

It’s been a long time since someone said his name, and Nathan is briefly speechless. He closes his eyes to take a second to think. He’s torn between landing a cybernetic left hook on Wilson’s jaw and mentioning the last person to call him Nathan was his wife. He could do both. 

He decides to do neither. Noticing the drawers again, he feels a flicker of concern for his other possessions. 

“Did you touch anything else?” he asks, seeing the bear in his periphery. 

“Nothing except all the drawers in here,” Wilson replies helpfully. _Yeah, no shit_ , Nathan thinks. Wilson’s expression changes to thoughtful. 

“Nathan is a very modern name,” he muses. “You’d think we’d have more Cyraxes and Janices in the future.” 

“Why did you have to come in?” Nathan asks tiredly, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. “You have no self-control, do you?” 

“I mean, you’re standing between me and the door, so I can’t exactly leave,” Wilson responds like the immature ass he is. He says something about a woman Nathan hasn’t heard of, so the reference means nothing to him. He just wants Wilson out at this point. 

“You can leave,” he says as he moves back, giving Wilson more than enough space to get out. The asshole doesn’t move for some goddamn reason. 

“You know,” he exclaims, “I think Cable is a very obvious fake name. You’re clearly a Nate.” 

That nickname causes Nathan to go cold. He never imagined he’d be called it again, especially not by Wilson, and what makes him the most mad is how good it sounds coming off of Wilson’s heinous fucking tongue. 

“Like Deadpool is any more convincing,” he replies softly, knowing two can play at the game, “ _Wade_.” 

Wilson seems like he wants to reply, but finally gets the memo that he should back off. 

“I’ll leave you to it, Buchanan,” he says. “I have an appointment with Mr. Hand and Mr. Yank.” 

_I don’t need to fucking know. And who the fuck is Buchanan?_ Nathan thinks. He just tells Wilson to get out again. Somehow this stops Wilson’s exit. 

“I feel like you say that to me a lot. You have a lot of demands and don’t really do anything in return.” 

“I let you keep your bones the way they are another day,” Nathan replies, but his heart isn’t in it. This constant – whatever you would call it, banter or verbal jousting _flirting_ – is exhausting to his temper. 

“Alright, Heigl,” Wilson quips. “I’ll leave you and your vanilla room alone. Get some posters up. You heard of pin-up?” 

“I have a wife,” Nathan responds. In complete honesty, he couldn’t give a fuck about stuff like pin-up or Playboy. Once again, he and Wilson are opposites. 

“ _Had_ ,” Wilson adds sweetly. “You aren’t seeing her anytime soon, so she won’t know. You can even have a poster of Madonna up if you want. Or, you know. Ryan Gosling, if you’re into that.” 

None of the names are familiar to Nathan. 

“Who?” he asks. Wilson’s reply makes no sense but he’s leaving as he speaks, and Nathan watches as he closes the door. 

_Finally_. He closes the drawers, putting his ID in a different one to before, before resting against the desk, arms crossed. That corrosion has burned its way up his chest and it’s making his throat tight. 

_You’re clearly a Nate_ , Wilson says in his head. Nathan’s fist leaves a dent in the desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Dress by Taylor Swift 
> 
> I swear I use the word 'prickle' 8000 times


	4. But ever since the day I started burning out

Nathan wakes up angry. It takes him a moment to remember why. Wilson’s face comes to his mind, and he puts his head back with a sigh. _That’s why_. There’s no use dwelling on his problems, he knows that much. Unlike Wilson, he doesn’t like to wallow in self-pity or whatever this is. He gets up instantly, making the bed as much as he cares to, checking the bear with a fleeting glance as he pulls a black sleeveless shirt on. _Good enough_ , he thinks. Fashion is something he hasn’t put much effort into. Cargo pants and a military tee and he’s good to go, any day.

It’s six in the morning and he can hear only Piotr is awake so early. Wilson is having some ridiculous dream about unicorns. 

Nathan jogs the grounds of the house to pass some time. The air is biting cold, his breath white clouds, but it isn’t doing anything to chill the burning that’s risen inside of him. He can’t label what it is yet, and this makes him unsure of whether he actually can’t label it, or just doesn’t want to. 

“Stop fucking thinking about it,” he mutters to himself, picking up the pace, clenching his teeth like he always does. The way Wilson said his name is coming back, scraping in the back of his thoughts where he pushed the memory, a disastrous whisper. 

_Stop. Thinking. About. Wade._

He slows down so he’s standing still, breathing hard. _Wade? Why the fuck am I calling him by his first name? Everyone else, fine, but Wilson – he’s detached, I can’t –_

Nathan puts his hands over his face, heels of his palms pressing on his eyes hard enough to see white flashes. _I’m so fucked up about nothing_. He exhales hard, watching the plume of breath spiral upwards between his hands. All he knows is that he absolutely doesn’t feel anything back for Wilson, regardless of what twisted kind of _love_ Wilson acts like he’s feeling. He steels himself, dragging back the composure he’s used to. His mentality of when he first met Wilson, that mask of grim anger. It’s almost a comfort. 

It’s somehow already eight. He goes back inside, making sure Wilson is still asleep. _Of course he is_. He pulls a hoodie loosely over his tee, before hearing Piotr walk outside his door. Lighter footsteps trail after, but these stop at his room. As bearable as Neena is, her actions are getting past cryptic and into dangerous. 

Neena is one of those people who knocks as they open the door so he doesn’t have much warning. Not that he needs any, other than making sure his temper is at a low burn. 

“Morning,” she says, and he returns it likewise. She looks at him closely. “So. Had a fight with Wade, right?” 

He vaguely shrugs to say, _it happened_. She leans the back of her head on the doorframe, looking at the ceiling as if the blank white paint is interesting. He knows it’s just her habit of avoiding his eyes when she’s about to say something which might get a rise out of him. The slight smile on her lips is suspicious. 

“What was it about?” she asks. He doesn’t reply. She tilts her head in his direction but doesn’t move her eyes. “Was it about what he said in front of that kid?” 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m past it.” 

“Mm, I’m sure. You remember what I said?” 

“I remember.” 

“Okay.” 

He says nothing else. There’s an uncomfortable sensation under his skin, like an itch. He has a feeling it’s because of her words. When the silence drags out for more than a minute, she meets his eyes briefly before leaving the doorway. 

_What’s she trying to do? Get me to say something to Wilson? Is she helping set him up with someone? Whatever she’s doing, she’s proved her point, and it’s just making what’s between Wilson and I hostile._

It’s eight thirty. 

He leaves his room at quarter to nine. Without needing to read her thoughts, he can feel that Neena has returned to her room. _Did she seriously come downstairs just to talk to me?_ He shakes his head. _Whatever_. He goes through to the kitchen, seeing the clean floor, glad Wilson actually picked up the glass pieces. He still feels like he needs to wake up. It’s like a strange haze in his head, a cloudiness he hasn’t felt before. _Maybe I’m just … maybe I should have something to drink. That’s it._

He makes a smoothie, not really paying attention to what he puts in it. It’s a lot of green. He imagines Wilson hasn’t had so much green in his life, at least by choice. Somehow he survives on obscene amounts of alcohol and a limited variety of Mexican food. His mutant powers probably contribute to his unlikely metabolism. 

It’s nine. He tips the blend into a glass and washes the jar out. It’s strangely domestic. He doesn’t get so much as peace from it, but he can’t explain how unused he is to having enough quiet spare time to do something like wash a blender. He briefly goes back to his room to move the ID to the back of his closet. As he shuts the door, he feels Wilson wake up, a dream about Piotr cut short. 

_Shit._

Nathan goes back to the kitchen so he can avoid bumping into Wilson. He knows he doesn’t go unheard, since Wilson is trying to listen hard, thinking about being psychic. It’s ironic, hearing someone thinking about being telepathic. The idiot is predictably trying to conjure up the most punishing drink he can take like it’s a suitable remedy. His footsteps come down the corridor. Nathan leans on the counter with the glass in his hand like he can’t care less. 

Wilson stops in the doorway and the sight of him makes Nathan’s renegade heart have a temporary arrhythmia. He drinks from his glass to distract himself. 

“Why are you always here when I am?” Wilson asks, trying to sound exasperated. Nathan doesn’t reply for a second. Wilson stares at the green smoothie like it’s offending him. 

“Same to you,” Nathan eventually replies. Wilson’s eyes briefly flick to him before he looks back to the glass. 

“You should be drinking that out of a mason jar,” he says, the insult painfully predictable. “I bet it’s all kale and kiwi and Hulk sperm.” 

It’s an off-putting remark at the most. Wilson is silently cursing himself for having unoriginal humor. 

“It’s good for you,” Nathan answers, his tone cutting, “but it’s not like you’d drink it. Your body would probably reject it.” 

“You know –” Wilson doesn’t miss a beat – “I pegged you for the type of guy who’d be into carb workouts, not the whole health freak thing. You’re like an old colorless Joaquin Phoenix.” 

Nathan responds by just lifting the glass to his mouth again, even though he (barely) wants to ask what the fuck Joaquin Phoenix means. Wilson is fantasizing about him drinking the smoothie in that fucked up way that the idiot somehow considers attractive. The room is uncomfortably hot. 

“What’s your go-to, then, huh?” Nathan asks to change the subject. He doesn’t expect an uplifting reply from Wilson since just five minutes ago, he was angling to have alcohol for breakfast. Wilson opens his mouth to reply. Nathan turns away so he can listen as he takes his jacket off because, _fuck_ , the room is stifling, but Wilson stops talking and stares. Nathan can’t decide whether to call him pathetic or shameless. He looks at Wilson with disconcertion, tossing the hoodie onto his shoulder. 

He tunes into Wilson’s thoughts. _Big mistake_. It’s like a fucking gut punch, the imagery that he sees making him almost recoil. _Jesus – what the fuck?_ Nathan can feel the thoughts thrumming at him like a dirty secret, even as he blocks them out. There’s no doubt Wilson is shameless now. 

“I asked you a question,” he asserts with more anger than intended. Blinking back into the real world, Wilson’s glazed gaze finds him. He can barely get a confused reply out. Nathan sighs. “Your go-to, dumbass. How you start your day. I’m willing to bet my fucking ass it involves alcohol.” 

Of course, it’s just a figure of speech, regardless of how much Wilson is wishing it was a genuine bet. All of the asshole’s attention centers on the smoothie so he can actually get coherent words out. 

“Of course it does,” Wilson replies with more candor than expected. “Nothing like something hard to begin your day.” 

He tries to ignore his poor choice of words. Nathan couldn’t care less about Wilson’s reply. _Wow_ , Wilson is thinking, _I need to exercise some mental self-control_. Nathan raises his eyebrows a little. _Yeah_ , he thinks, _you do_. Wilson seems to think it’s a response to his words. 

“But mostly if I’m in pain,” he continues. “You punch like Thanos. I can still feel your knuckles in my ribs.” 

“Boohoo, princess,” Nathan says, glad at how convincingly unfeeling he sounds. “You asked for it.” 

He wants to fuck with Wilson, since the merc’s internal monologue has personally insulted him, and knows exactly how. As he drinks the rest of the smoothie, he can see Wilson’s face out the edge of his vision, devastated elation. 

He doesn’t turn around when he hears Wilson make a hasty exit. After washing the glass, Nathan stands with his hands on either side of the kitchen sink. He can hear the soft tones of Wilson’s voice through the walls, talking to his bar friend. Nathan isn’t sure if he dares to get back into Wilson’s thoughts after seeing that X-rated myriad of images. He gives in to his – not curiosity, but something close to it. _Weasel, this isn’t helping_ , Wilson thinks desperately. _You don’t get it, this time I don’t just want a fuck-and-go._ Nathan feels something cold cross his skin. In a few seconds pause from talking to Weasel, Wilson attempts to figure out what he could say. 

_‘Hey, Nathan. This is a little sudden but would you be up for a bedroom brawl?’ No, that isn’t right. The guy will probably literally fight me_ , he thinks wildly. _Maybe I should text ‘u up? ;)’ at random. Or an eggplant. Maybe they don’t have sexting in the future. Oh god. Maybe it’s all they have._

Nathan can’t find words to describe how ridiculous he feels listening in to this bullshit. He hopes to hell Wilson doesn’t do what he’s thinking. He wouldn’t even know how to respond to something like a text because it was never something he prioritised, and he would rather have Wilson land on his head again before he asked Neena or Ellie for help. _Fuck, this makes me sound old._

He almost doesn’t notice when Neena says from behind him, “Is there something in the sink?” 

He turns. She’s in the doorway with an eyebrow raised. 

“No,” he replies. “Just distracted.” 

“By what?” she asks, and he says nothing because he couldn’t explain it even if he wanted. She looks at him with a strangely intense look. To say Nathan is unused to such a scrutinizing gaze is an understatement. 

“What?” 

She shrugs. “I’m just saying, he’s bad at taking hints or backing off. You have to tell him to his face.” 

“I’ll make sure to remember.” His voice comes out less sarcastic than he wanted. He watches her go and hears her opens Wilson’s door. He frowns. _What is she doing?_ Nathan doesn’t want to stick around to find out, picking up his hoodie where he put it on the counter and going to leave in a way that doesn't go past Wilson's room. 

“So, Cable,” Neena says, and he stops. The traitorous part of Nathan’s mind wants to hear the conversation. There’s a dragged-out silence. Neena adds, “am I right thinking I hit right on the money?” 

“No,” Wilson replies, too fast to be convincing. After a long pause, he tacks on, “what _about_ Cable?” 

“I don’t know,” Neena says. It’s the tone of voice that Nathan has come to recognize as a tentative way of starting a personal conversation. “He’s kinda cute, yeah?” 

There’s no semblance of truth in her words, he’s relieved to hear, but whether Wilson can tell is an entirely different matter. 

“I don’t think cute is a word to be used anywhere near someone who looks like they’re made of metal and dirt,” Wilson replies. His brain says, _uh, yeah._

“What word would you use then?” Neena is transparent in her methods of trying to get some kind of truth from Wilson, who for once, doesn’t seem to be oblivious. 

“What _word?_ ” he asks. Stalling. His thoughts are whispering, _hot. Uhhh. DILF. I can’t say any of these out loud._

_I hope to fuck you don’t_ , Nathan thinks. 

“Overcompensating,” Wilson eventually says. Nathan lets out a soft snort at how much Wilson is bullshitting her. 

“Huh,” Neena answers. 

“You’re too young for him. And he has a future wife, remember?” Wilson says. “Sometime in the future, I think. Did he specify? I can’t remember.” 

Nathan shakes off the desire to hear anymore, at least audible voice-wise. He needs to detach himself completely from Wilson. Any and all emotion – the anger, hate, everything else, he knows he’s better off blanking it. It’s compromising. 

Neena leaves Wilson and goes down the other end of the corridor. Nathan doesn’t move still, though he’s not too sure why. Leaning against the wall around the corner from Wilson’s room, he exhales violently. He can hear Ellie coming downstairs, the vibe her thoughts radiate not as angry as her face tends to give off. The sound of Wilson’s door opening alerts Nathan, who can hear him thinking about dinosaurs. 

“Why are you poking your head out like you’re sneaky?” Ellie asks, and Wilson’s flash of _fuck!_ lets Nathan know she came up while he wasn’t paying attention. Nathan stops listening to them speaking and is about to move off when he hears Wilson’s voice loud and clear. 

“Because I think he’s in love with me and I’m too shy to confront him.” 

Nathan can’t tell how much of it is a joke and how much is serious. He bites down the anger that tries to rise. _If Wilson wants a confrontation, I’ll give him one_. He steps around the corner and Ellie looks directly at him. 

“Nope,” she says, meeting his eyes, “all clear.” 

She leaves quick, the eye contact she made with him knowing. Wilson is his usual unaware self, shouting after her in confusion. Nathan gets as close as he can to Wilson without touching him so he can’t be missed. Turning mid-yell, Wilson cuts off with a hoarse “oh my god.” 

“Have fun with your confrontation,” Ellie calls. Nathan crosses his arms, acutely aware of how much such a simple gesture fucks Wilson up. 

“What bullshit are you saying about me now?” he asks, as dangerously casual as he can be. Wilson just looks down at him in mute reverence. He opens his mouth to make an excuse, so Nathan interrupts, “no point in lying, genius. I heard everything.” 

_There’s no way he could have heard Domino talking to me_ , Wilson thinks in a panic, _I could see in the corridor behind her. He has to be bluffing, right?_

Nathan has to keep the wry smile off his face, looking away from Wilson. _If only you knew_. 

“I … am trying to drive you out,” Wilson manages. Nathan bites his tongue. _Sure. You’re a fucking bad liar._

“You’re trying,” he replies dryly, “to drive me out. And you don’t think, at your level of obnoxious, it would have worked already if I couldn’t put up with it?” 

“Everyone has a breaking point,” Wilson says, excuses getting weaker by the second. Nathan looks him directly in the eyes. 

“You’re not going to break mine.” 

When he walks away, he can feel Wilson’s thoughts, a mix of humiliated and stunned euphoria. 

_He was close enough to kiss me._

It takes Nathan a moment to realize it wasn’t his thoughts saying that, but Wilson’s. 

He doesn’t want to consider the implications of this any time soon. 

Nathan manages to avoid Wilson for the rest of the day. Evening comes and goes, uneventful. But his insomnia returns when night falls into early morning, and he can’t sleep with that burning ache in his chest anyway. It reaches him that Wilson, like often, is also still awake. They're a ‘couple of night owls’, as Wilson once said. It won’t hurt to go through, watch some more shitty television with him, he thinks as he gets up and opens his door. 

The corridor is quiet, dark and cold. The house is one of those which seldom creaks, so when silence falls at night, he can hear any sound in its recesses. Right now, Nathan can hear the soft buzz of whatever Wilson is watching. He pushes his door a little way closed behind him and goes towards the noise. 

Wilson is lying on the couch like he was dropped onto it, one leg over the back and one trailing on the floor. Nathan can already see there’s no conceivable space for anyone else. 

While he doesn’t turn to acknowledge Nathan, Wilson’s eyes do flicker his direction briefly, the only indication he isn’t glued to the movie. Nathan walks until he’s standing by the couch and nudges Wilson’s nearest leg with his. 

“Took my seat, you ass,” he says, slightly resentful of how unintentionally _playful_ his voice somehow comes out. He had meant to sound pissed. Wilson’s heart flutters as he moves up, dragging himself along the couch like it involves excessive effort. Nathan sits next to him, telling him to stop complaining. He looks at the television. A man and woman are running away from the rain. “What is this?” 

He can tell his tone of voice rubbed Wilson the wrong way because he gets a glare as a reply, like this movie is a masterpiece. 

“You’re too old to get it,” Wilson says, looking back to the couple. Nathan frowns. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re not _that_ much younger than me.” He was sure Wilson was over forty, but maybe under that mess of skin, he was younger than his face showed. 

“Maybe in real life,” Wilson answers, thinking about someone called Ryan, “but in this universe, I am.” 

_Universe? Who the hell is Ryan? His driving license said he’s forty one, so maybe he’s lying to me_. Nathan just says, “What?” 

Wilson changes the subject to the movie and an off-screen character called Frank, who Nathan can’t find himself to have any interest in. He can feel Wilson thinking about everything _but_ the movie. _For fuck’s sake, does Wilson have some kind of arm fetish? I should wear sleeves more because he doesn’t stop goddamn looking_. After a while, Nathan is tired of the movie and Wilson’s distracted gaze. He gets up to grab a beer and as he picks a can from the refrigerator, he hears Wilson considering getting one too. He takes two cans in his hand, swinging the door shut, cold air brushing his skin. He looks at the back of Wilson’s head. _Fucking asshole_. 

Nathan throws the can without even needing to aim and it hits Wilson in the skull, making him curse and double over, grabbing onto his head. 

“Oh,” Nathan says with as little emotion as he can manage, “did I not ask you out loud?” 

He cracks the can open. Wilson is too busy in pain to realize the insinuation of his words. 

“No, you did fucking _not_ ,” he groans. He grabs the can from the floor, muttering about how it will explode. 

“What a pity,” Nathan replies, his can at his mouth to hide the hint of a smile. Wilson turns his head, eyes finding his cybernetic arm. 

“I’m gonna open it and aim it at your metal arm and see how you like a rusty arm.” 

Nathan knows it’s an empty threat, but decides to play along anyway, answering, “Do that and I’ll drop you.” 

It’s just as empty as Wilson’s comment had been. 

He sits back down on the couch, carelessly enough that his knee touches Wilson’s thigh. Every ounce of Wilson’s consciousness focuses on that one spot intensely, his brain screaming. Nathan moves, but only very little, because he can’t particularly be bothered right now to give a shit. His leg ends up lolling back into place. The beer is cold on his tongue. In the movie, a person with lots of makeup is singing to a man with a yellow bowl cut. Nathan can’t imagine it ever being popular or attractive. 

“Was his hair fashionable?” he asks, frowning. Wilson’s eyes don’t leave the screen as he answers. 

“The blonde one or the one with drag queen makeup?” 

“First one,” Nathan clarifies. Wilson thinks for a moment. 

“Uh, no,” he eventually explains. “Never. I think a whole group of British guys had the same haircut in the ‘60s but it always looked fucking awful.” 

Nathan recalls seeing a group of teenagers with hair like it the other day, so he guesses it must be coming back into fashion. He gives a dismissive hum as a response. As he always does, Wilson can’t handle it and practically starts to sweat. _No, Wade_ , he thinks rapidly, _calm down. You aren’t a Netflix teen girl. You’re a fully grown man who’s losing it over another fully grown man. You can handle this_. 

Nathan turns to look at him with a _seriously_ expression just as Wilson’s nervously-turned-on face also turns, which makes their thoughts clash hard in Nathan’s head. Sudden images – not just images, but _sensations_ – hit him, awakening something so deep, so _dark_ , that Nathan retracts fast, registering the abrupt heat that crosses his skin. The heat switches to a sick feeling as he pulls on as neutrally angry a façade as he can, Wilson still zoned out. 

“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asks, despite knowing exactly why. Wilson can’t pull himself together, making some noise that doesn’t count as words, fumbling with his beer. He pulls the tab and the beer shoots out, still shaken up. Nathan gets out the way, knowing where Wilson’s mind has gone. _Sweet Jesus_. Out loud, he calls Wilson the fucking idiot he is. Immobile and half soaked in beer, Wilson’s thoughts say more than his mouth ever could. Nathan moves off the couch, looking down. The sickness in his chest feels like the virus, but cold, like fear, or – 

He reins it in. 

“You’ll have to clean that shit up by yourself,” he says, wanting nothing more than to get out of the room. His 'goodnight' is an afterthought, and he doesn’t once consider turning around when he leaves, because that corrosion has made its way into his heart. With a sinking feeling as he shuts his door and leans against it, Nathan knows that this hollow burn inside him is far worse than he’d ever anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alt. chapter title: Well, I know that you’re the one that I’ve been dreaming about 
> 
> Chapter title from Sway by Tove Styrke 
> 
> Wade is the same age as Ryan Reynolds here.


	5. Feel the touch of your lips and I'm never prepared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS HAS TAKEN ME TWO MONTHS TO LITERALLY FINISH THE FINAL CHAPTER 
> 
> SORRY GUYS I SUCK SO B A D I can say I had work and stuff but it's just excuses when it's just that I got into comic!Cable, so then MCU!Cable was hard to write, and then I got into Dragon Age and FMA and basically distracted myself endlessly BUT 
> 
> Today I buckled down and got it done! ENJOY AND I'M SORRY

While he would never admit it to anyone, Nathan sometimes doesn’t like thinking about his wife. Not because she’s being replaced in any way, though Wilson would like to imagine. The _guilt_ is what gets to him. The time when even Wilson can’t distract him from wondering how Hope is doing, if she’s growing up, if she misses him. He often checks the bear, if she’s still safe. It doesn’t make him _sad_ – but it always makes him look at Wilson differently, questioning if he was the right choice or not. He didn’t have to save Wilson and it doesn’t seem like the world is better off substantially with him here. Wilson’s future ancestors fuck around till death. If Wilson’s existence doesn’t contribute anything to the future, was he worth saving?

_There I go again_ , he thinks wryly. _But it’s not like I can undo it now._

Sometimes, he wonders, if killing Wilson would change all this, send him back to his own time, to Hope, to his wife … _could I do it?_

_Once, maybe, but now –_

He sits up, pushing a hand through his hair, feeling his arm cables flex. Wilson is thinking about him, he notices. Even with how often he reads Wilson’s mind, hearing thoughts about himself is off-putting when it’s … in _that_ context. His name crosses Wilson’s mind and it sends a cold streak through his blood. He’d pushed away the idea of hearing it again, associating _Nate_ with his wife, his home, not fucking _Wilson_. 

He pushes away the thoughts, along with Wilson, and gets up. Someone knocks on his door. Ellie sticks her head around it when it opens. 

“Breakfast,” is all she says. He nods. Their entire relationship seems to be built on few words and a lot of nodding. Neither of them is inclined to talk a lot, so it’s very convenient for them both. 

Nathan pulls on a plain gray tee and jeans. He’s doing up the belt as the door opens without warning. He knows exactly who it is without needing to turn. 

“You still smell like beer,” is all he says. Wilson snorts. 

“If I shower later, are you joining me?” he asks in his sweetest possible voice. When Nathan doesn’t reply, he sighs. “I know you want to.” 

Nathan turns with an icy expression as Wilson tries to lean on the doorway. Catching his eye, Wilson misses the doorframe with his elbow. He quickly, unconvincingly, turns it into a shoulder lean. 

“I’ll pass,” Nathan replies with enough venom that Wilson gives up, waving a hand as he leaves. After pushing a gun into his waistband, _just in case_ , he thinks, Nathan goes through to the kitchen. Neena smiles at him from where she’s sat on the back of the couch, balancing a plate on her knees in a way that defies gravity. Piotr rumbles ‘good morning’ at him. Like the asshole he is, Wilson is behind him. As Nathan watches, he reaches past the big metal guy and takes bacon directly from the pan. 

“It’s best when it burns your mouth,” he explains when he sees Nathan looking on with disapproval. Wilson shoves the entire handful into his mouth. 

“Sure,” Ellie deadpans from where she is at the table with Yukio. 

“I’m going to Maggie’s,” the fuckface crows through his mouthful, dancing his fingertips across Nathan’s shoulder as he passes, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. His departing wink causes Nathan’s arm to click audibly as he has to stop himself grabbing Wilson by the collar. Neena notices. 

“Chill,” she says, half joking, a piece of toast rotating in her hands absently. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nathan answers, unable to keep the tightness from his voice. Ellie and Neena exchange a look. 

“Do not let Wade get to you,” Piotr says, trying to be the voice of reason, laying out more bacon as he speaks. Nathan shakes his head as he crosses his arms, pissed at the attention being directed at him still. 

“I’m not letting him do anything.” 

Neena coughs something into her toast that sounds suspiciously like ‘denial’, to which he turns a sharp gaze on her. 

“Don’t let her get to you either,” Ellie calls. Suddenly stifled by simply _being_ there, Nathan turns and goes the same way Wilson left, so he can stand in the hall outside the kitchen room to recollect his thoughts. He realises his fists are still clenched and looks down, loosening them, exhaling. He’s always felt like this about Wade, he knows it, this low-burning anger which spikes into a temper when Wilson so much as opens his dumb mouth. But recently, Wilson’s been getting under his skin so easily it’s bordering on strange. _Maybe I’ve hit my limit putting up with him_. Neena’s accusation of denial causes his gut to clench. It’s hard to pinpoint _why_. 

“Oh … hello.” 

Nathan snaps out of his reverie at the familiar voice, looking up. Standing in front of him is sheepish-looking Russell. Nathan automatically tenses. 

“Hi, Russell,” Neena says to break the awkward silence, appearing in the doorway next to Nathan. She tosses a glance his way, to say _be nice_. Nathan turns his attention back to Russell and forces an unconvincing tight smile which doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Hello, Russell.” 

“Last time you said that to me, you tried to kill me,” the kid says casually. A muscle in Nathan’s cheek twitches. 

“Why’re you here?” Neena continues with the air of a friendly big sister. 

“They dropped me off. Said I had one chance to prove myself.” 

“Guys,” Ellie says from behind them, “you should come see this.” 

If Wilson had been here, Nathan knows he would have said something about clichés, but then been first in to see what she was talking about. He follows behind Russell and Neena. Piotr is standing with the television controller in his large chrome hand, his face along with Ellie and Yukio’s turned to the screen. Nathan has no choice but to do the same. 

It’s the news, showing, as usual, smoke and explosions. Neena crosses her arm over her chest. 

“Who is it this time?” 

“That’s what we’re working out,” Ellie answers, frowning. The news camera swings round to a reporter, cowering behind the van. Clearly the cameras are supposed to be off by now, glitching and shaking as she yells for help. The camera steadies to peek over the van hood. The smoke clears, revealing a huge figure walking towards them. The room collectively becomes far darker. 

“Shit,” Neena says, summing up what Nathan is thinking, 

“That’s Juggernaut!” Russell shouts. Nathan leans forwards. 

“Where –” he begins. 

“Where is he?” Piotr asks. He doesn’t see the slight resentment that flickers over Nathan’s face as Neena replies. 

“He’s near – wait, he’s near the bar. He’s going after Wade!” she exclaims. “Let’s go. It just got personal.” 

Nathan can’t explain the way the information makes him feel as he returns to his room, switching out his clothes for more combat-ready attire, shrugging his vest on, trying not to think as he tightens the straps. He knows Wilson can handle himself. The guy can’t even die, so whatever Juggernaut throws his way can be handled. But knowing the idiot is oblivious, drinking his ass off with Juggernaut heading his way, makes Nathan _pissed_. He pushes his pistols into their holsters and clips the BFG on his back. As he reaches for the bear, his hand stops, hovering just over it. 

_Do I need to bring it?_ he wonders, staring at it. _I know she’s safe. But I don’t want to lose it_. 

“Cable, we’re going!” Neena shouts, running past his door. He hesitates, before taking the bear. _I can’t leave her just yet_. He leaves the room pulling his gloves on, his mind finally on something other than Wilson. 

It doesn’t take them long to get near the bar. By that time, Juggernaut has clearly got inside, rubble across the street outside, people running from the scene. Ellie and Yukio are out first, then Piotr, and Nathan sees Neena get ready to leave, Wilson’s red suit over her shoulder. She catches his eye and grins. 

“You want to give it to him?” she asks, and he almost rolls his eyes. It’s enough of a reply and she exits, bringing Russell with her. Left on his own, Nathan rechecks his arsenal, Wilson’s thoughts reaching him. 

_Is it so much to ask for just one drink in peace? Maybe Weasel won’t make me pay after all this, though …_

Drawing his gun from his back, Nathan blocks the hazy rush out, and joins the others. As he steps into the bar, his eyes find Wilson first, looking like a complete fucking idiot in his red suit, calling something whiny across to Neena. Nathan gets closer to Juggernaut, lifting his gun up. 

“Wow,” Wilson says, distracting him. “That’s barely even a wall anymore.” 

That same old annoyance rises up at his words. _He’s just being damn conversational._

“Shut your damn mouth and contribute,” he growls, ignoring the faux hurt on Wilson’s masked face. Neena gets behind Juggernaut and Yukio disorientates him with an attack which Ellie boosts up. Next to Nathan, Wilson chooses to yell at the witnesses watching outside the bar. They dodge a tire launched towards them, and then Nathan meets Wilson’s eye by mistake as he glances up. A livid expression crosses his face to silently deter Wilson from running his mouth. For Wilson, it’s tantamount to foreplay. 

Nathan tears himself away, twisting his gun dial to six and firing at Juggernaut. The pulse sends the huge man stumbling out of the bar, tracking bricks and bottle shards into the street. They all follow quickly, still with no plan of how to deal with him. Wilson is last to get outside. 

With no plan, Nathan guesses some kind of fluke is what will save them, and he isn’t surprised when this fluke comes in the form of Neena’s luck. A cement truck headed towards her causes a flash of panic in Piotr, who moves instinctively despite being too far away to help. Seemingly off nothing, instead of hitting Neena, the truck flips over, launching the driver out of the cab and onto the road, where he scrambles away. The truck’s landing makes the ground shake, staggering Juggernaut, cement pooling out over him in one big convenient turn of events. A part of the truck smashes the rubble in the street and sends chunks in their direction. 

A hand grabs Nathan’s collar, then his arm, pulling him out the way even as he was about to move himself. It sends a thrum of anger through him. _Does he really think I’m not capable?_ Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan can see Wilson, mirth clearly showing through the mask, and it sets his teeth on edge. Laugh it up. 

Piotr lets go of him, moving to help Russell with Juggernaut, and Wilson wastes no time in trying to take his place, taking hold of his shoulder like he needs steadying. Quick to elbow him off, Nathan shakes off his burning chagrin. Wilson tilts his head. 

“Don’t be so afraid to ask for help,” he says, laying the pious attitude on thick. Nathan chooses to ignore it, knowing he’ll end up hitting him if he doesn’t focus on something else. They both look at where Russell is sealing Juggernaut into the cement. 

“I feel,” Wilson notes thoughtfully, “like this would never happen in the MCU.” 

Nathan squints in annoyed confusion at him. “The what?” 

Wilson shrugs. “You know, it’s almost like there’s no knowledge going into how these guys work at all.” 

This makes Nathan actually turn to look at him, silent for a moment, trying to figure out what the _fuck_ Wilson is blabbering about this time. 

“You’re always saying shit that makes no sense and not explaining,” he replies, voice low to hide the irritation, “and it’s really getting on my nerves.” 

“I thought I couldn’t break your breaking point?” Wilson counters, sickeningly sweet, his memory serving him for once. Nathan’s hands tighten on his gun. 

“I said _on_ my nerves, not past them.” 

Wilson waves a hand. “Those are two very similar things.” 

Nathan stops listening. He pulls his utility bag to his chest, watching as Neena talks to Russell. Juggernaut is trapped, at least for now. Wilson is mumbling more bullshit to himself. Nathan blanks it out as easily as thoughts, getting out his lip balm, putting it on absently. His mouth tastes of dust. 

He becomes aware that Wilson has stopped talking and is staring directly at him unashamedly. Calmly putting his lip balm away, Nathan tries to ignore it, displeasure growing until he finally has to demand, “ _what?_ ”, turning a glare on Wilson. 

“Is lip balm seriously still a thing?” Wilson asks, and it’s unclear if his bemusement is genuine. “I see people talking about the benefits of it but never actually using it. Except 90s B-listers and suburban moms.” 

He pauses, tapping his chin. “That might be lip gloss.” 

Nathan is done listening, leaving Wilson talking to himself about lip gloss. It’s beyond him why Wilson is so obsessed with his use of lip balm. He slots his gun onto his back, keeping his pace towards Neena and Piotr, hearing Wilson rambling about Chapstick. 

“… I feel like Chapstick is a branded version of lip balm and we’re just keeping it ambiguous so it doesn’t seem sponsored.” 

“Keep walking, you talking scrotum,” Nathan mutters, his tone acidic. Wilson shakes his head obtusely. 

“No,” he answers pleasantly, “this pace is fine with me.” 

Nathan has already stopped by the time Wilson has said ‘no’, leaving the idiot walking and talking to himself a second time. Neena looks curiously at him. He frowns. 

“What?” 

She shrugs. “Nothing. You just stayed pretty close.” 

They start walking back to the plane. Nathan thinks over her words. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks. Neena laughs at his frustration. 

“I don’t know,” she responds cryptically, “what do you think it means?” 

He looks steadfastly ahead. “I think it means nothing.” 

“Come on, Cable. You and Wade were stuck to each other like glue that entire fight.” 

“We weren’t.” 

“ _We were not_. You sound like some embarrassed kid. You stuck by his side the whole time, and don’t think I missed the look on your face when I said Juggernaut was heading for Wade.” 

Nathan looks away. “I wasn’t worried. It’s not like he can die.” 

“You can admit it to me, I won’t tell.” 

Nathan shakes his head. “There’s nothing to admit –” 

Neena grabs his arm, causing them both to stop, until there’s distance between Piotr and them. Nathan sighs. 

“You know what I’ve been saying is true,” she says, in her admonishing sisterly tone. “You’ve seen how Wade feels. Don’t lead him on.” 

Nathan bristles. “I’m not.” 

“If you say so,” she answers, letting go of his arm, before acting like nothing happened and continuing on to the plane. Nathan watches her go, the pit of his stomach empty. 

The ride back to the base is silent between them. Nathan thinks the entire time about what Neena said to him. He grimaces, a hand over his face, thumbing his temple. A confrontation is inevitable, and at this rate, Neena will catalyse it before either he or Wilson make a move. 

He knows, even as he walks towards his grave, he’ll regret it if he doesn’t act. 

Nathan lifts a hand to knock, before stopping. He stares at the wood door, feeling the most divided he has in his entire life. He _hates_ it. 

He knocks. 

No reply. 

Giving up on politeness and wanting to get this over with, he simply steps into the doorway and waits for Wilson to see him. The ass is lying on his bed, mask off but still in his suit, like he crashed there instantly. He’s absorbed in some shitty looking show. 

When Wilson finally sees him, he twitches, startled. Trying to play it cool, he yanks the earbud out of his right ear by the cord, rolling onto his side. 

“Sorry, do you want something?” he asks, like Nathan would otherwise just stand in his doorway for no reason. Before he says anything, Nathan pulls the door so it’s almost shut, leaning on the doorframe to fix his gaze on Wilson. _How do I go about this? Patient? Blunt?_ Nathan knows he should have thought out accusing Wilson of some immature love, planned what to say, but he’s here now. _Too late to back out_. 

Wilson actually pauses his show, tossing the earbuds down, turning onto his back fully to return the gaze. He looks Nathan up and down, thinking, _shit, what is this about?_

“What is this?” he says out loud, to hide his growing trepidation. “The start of a porn?” 

Nathan lets it slide because getting pissed off won’t help. He knows he has to get directly to the heart of the problem. 

“Of everyone I’ve met in my time and this,” he begins, speaking slowly so he can find the right words, speaking softly so Wilson knows the danger, “you’re probably the worst.” 

Wilson sits up, thoughts swirling in confusion. “Is that a compliment, or …?” 

Nathan raises his voice to keep the focus. “And of all the _fucking_ people to try and get _me_ –” 

_Here it is, out in the open. If I’m wrong about Wilson –_

“– in their _bed_ –” he spits, seeing the panic flash over Wilson’s face, lighting up his mind like a red alarm. Nathan’s words become cutting. 

“Why,” he says, a bitterness coming into his voice, “did it have – to be _you_.” 

Wilson is upright now, sweating. 

“How the fuck do you –” he exclaims, before shaking his head, like denial. “What have they been telling you?” 

Nathan doesn’t want them to be overheard. He pushes the door closed with his heel before looking Wilson in the eye. Wilson is sitting like he’s about to stand up, eyes wide, none of that smart-ass attitude that normally comes so naturally. Nathan knows all of his accusations will seem baseless if he doesn’t just reveal how he knows about Wilson’s _crush_. Neena’s words stoked the fire, but Nathan has to make sure Wilson can’t weasel out of this. 

“I can see right through you,” he eventually says, like a guilty declaration. Wilson covers himself with his hands, half in disbelief and half in genuine worry. 

“I knew your eye was magic!” he gasps. Nathan scowls. 

“No, you fucking _idiot_ , not like that.” 

Wilson lowers his hands as Nathan adds, “I can tell what you’re thinking.” 

With a frown, Wilson scans him with a sceptical eye. “What, like a trained cop?” 

_Is he seriously this fucking stupid?_

“No, dumbshit,” Nathan replies, more venomous than intended. “I can literally hear your thoughts. I’m telepathic.” 

He’s surprised Wilson hasn’t figured it out by now. The dawning expression on Wilson’s face indicates exactly how truly fucked he feels. 

_Oh, holy shitballs_ , he thinks, _I’m more fucked than –_

“Yeah,” Nathan answers, and Wilson looks at him, stunned, “you are.” 

“Oh my god,” is all he can say for a moment. He stares somewhere on Nathan’s shirt, hardly thinking straight. “You weren’t lying.” 

Nathan’s brow furrows. “Of course I wasn’t lying. What would I gain from lying about being telepathic?” 

Wilson starts thinking the name _Charles_ , saying something nonsensical about an ex-machina. Then the realisation hits him that every one of his thoughts – the fantasies, the dreams, the flirting inside his head – was audible. His face is a picture of dread. 

“You … heard it all. _All_ of it.” 

Nathan can’t reply much more than, “Yes.” 

No use in making it harder for Wilson to grasp the truth. 

“You mean –” Wilson almost chokes in horror. “The time that I –” 

“The time you were fantasizing about Fifty Shades outside?” Nathan interrupts, grating it out, remembering both Wilson’s fantasy and the movie series in equal disgust. “Yes, I fucking know about that, and those movies. Your media in this generation is terrible. Give me more credit than that.” 

“Hey,” Wilson says weakly, his mind looping _give me more credit than that_ , “it’s a timeless romantic classic. Up there with Titanic.” 

Nathan doesn’t know what Titanic is apart from a cruise ship, and its irrelevance here throws him for a second. His anger is passing now. Wilson is watching him closely, wondering if his feelings are welcome. 

“Yeah, you can dream, Wilson,” Nathan says sharply, and Wilson grabs his head. 

“Can you stop?” he whines, leaning back. “It’s violating my brain. I’m gonna need a Magneto helmet. Is Juggernaut auctioning his?” 

The name Magneto is vaguely familiar to Nathan, but he doesn’t understand how it fits this conversation. He chooses to not reply, just giving a hum of disinterest. Wilson finally stands up off of his bed, shutting the laptop. 

_Now it’s just him and me. Nothing in between_. 

He tries to make a cable television joke that Neena has already said twice before and Nathan cuts across him, but then a strange slyness overtakes Wilson’s face. 

“What, you can tell what I’m going to say and do before I do it, from my thoughts?” 

Once again, his sudden tangent means nothing to Nathan. _Where the hell did he get that idea?_ He frowns a little. 

“I can’t tell the future,” he replies, wondering if Wilson is truly as dumb as he sounds, “that’s not the same thing as telepathy.” 

Wilson moves closer. Of his jumble of thoughts, one rises clear above the others. _I’m going to regret this._

A dark thrill of unease takes over Nathan. 

“What?” he says, but manages nothing else, because Wilson has crossed the distance and kissed him. Nathan’s entire mind goes blank as he registers it. He wants to move, to push or pull, but can’t think of anything but to look at Wilson, feel the unfamiliar mouth on his. 

Wilson’s face and mind cloud and he pulls away quick, like he was bitten. A cold note bleeds into his thoughts, a _what if this was a mistake?_ kind of doubt. 

“Fucking hell,” he says shakily after a while. “Can we pretend that didn’t happen?” 

_Like I could look you in the eye and act like you didn’t do that_ , Nathan thinks wryly. He keeps his gaze lazy, finding Wilson’s, one brow lifting. Questioning. Wilson desperately breaks the silence between them. 

“That felt like you haven’t kissed before,” he says, falling back on insults. Nathan shrugs. 

“That felt like rubbing a dry foot on my face, so I guess we’re even.” 

_Touché_ , Wilson thinks. His mouth says, “We could try again.” 

“ _Could_ ,” Nathan answers, not letting Wilson have false hope. Wilson shrugs like it doesn’t bother him. 

“Should, in my opinion.” 

Nathan lets the quiet drag out. He can see Wilson’s eyes on his arms where they’re crossed over his chest. “You think about my arms a lot, and that’s strange.” 

Wilson sweats. “I think everybody does, but I’m more shameless.” 

The excuse doesn’t go over. Nathan tilts his head. “No, it’s just you.” 

“Are you stalling?” Wilson asks abruptly, looking at him closely. 

“Are you?” Nathan responds instantly. _He’s not turning this around on me._

Wilson shrugs, looking at the ceiling casually. “No, I’m just being patient and stopping myself from aggressively making out with you.” 

Nathan almost smiles. _Almost_. Wilson’s audacity seems to have that effect on him. He knows it doesn’t go unnoticed, Wilson leaping at it like a last chance. The dumbass crashes his mouth back onto Nathan’s with an alien ferocity, and it’s been so fucking long since Nathan kissed anyone, he has no idea how to react. Wilson dips his head, his hand palming at Nathan’s chest almost pathetically, pressing him back into the door. His thoughts are rushing past Nathan, a cacophony of _wrong, wrong, wrong_ , endless _why_ s and not enough _right_ s. 

And in that moment, Nathan hits _fuck it_. 

Everything Neena said to him is meaningless. He knows now, this bullshit had been long time coming, a slow burn he had repressed, denied, until it was spilling over. It fills him with all the anger, the hate, frustration – _everything_ Wilson has made him feel this past week, how he’s been forced to face himself, and he pulls it all into his mouth as he kisses Wilson back, hard enough to bruise, his cybernetic hand gripping his arm, not giving a _shit_ about consequences anymore. Wilson’s hand twists the material of his shirt, pulling him a few steps from the wall. Nathan inhales in the brief second their mouths aren’t together before Wilson kisses him a third time, the feeling of his skin an afterthought now, the stale taste of beer somehow sweet. 

_This is so fucking ridiculous_ , Nathan thinks suddenly. _What are we doing?_

He pushes against Wilson’s chest to make it easier to turn away, unable to stop himself from smiling wryly, seeing the disappointment flare in Wilson’s opening eyes. 

“Don’t leave me hanging, Nate,” he complains. The name is as unfamiliar coming from his tongue as it felt the first time he said it, and Nathan doesn’t want him to get used to saying it. 

“Call me that again, Wilson, and you die.” 

Wilson rubs his neck with a hand, before asking, “Can I call you it when it’s just us?” 

The genuine part of his plea and the unspoken offer of _another time_ makes Nathan hitch. His final ‘no’ makes Wilson sag. 

“You’re such a spoilsport,” he mutters, waving a hand in Nathan’s direction. His gaze turns yearning. “You didn’t even let me get handsy.” 

“Early stages,” Nathan answers, sarcastic. Wilson smiles. 

“I bet you can turn that cyborg tech into tentacles,” he says. Nathan is unsure of what to make of this statement until the images in Wilson’s head reach him. _Jesus, no._

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he replies dryly. Wilson’s expression turns earnest. 

“Uh, it would be me fucking you,” he says frankly. The silence that follows is long. Wilson somehow manages to hold his gaze, like it’s a challenge. 

“Yeah,” Nathan answers, still unsure of what to do with this information, “that doesn’t work out either.” 

“Early stages?” Wilson asks brightly. The situation is getting more and more absurd to Nathan, thinking back on the transpirations of only a few minutes ago. He almost wants to wipe his mouth. 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he says, brusque, “this was probably a mistake.” 

"Or,” Wilson responds as Nathan goes to leave. “This could be a thing.” 

It makes him stop, hand on the door handle. 

“You left your chances to be with your wife again to save me,” Wilson continues. “You can’t do that and then pull a no-homo.” 

After another stretch of silence, Nathan turns back around, distrust painting his face. 

“You … want to date.” 

“That word is so teenager-y,” Wilson snorts, shaking his head. “We’re not Negakio.” 

Nathan frowns, the topic of conversation a disturbing one. “So what would you call it?” 

Wilson grins as he speaks. “Let’s be lovers. No, even better – X-Lovers.” 

“Ex-lovers?” Nathan asks, losing the effort to deny this is happening. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“No, X like X-Force,” Wilson explains. He moves closer. “It can be a thing. You have Negasonic Teenage Torpedo with her girlfriend and I’m pretty sure Colossus and Domino can find partners and rope them into it.” 

Nathan shakes head, hating the idea of such a relationship. “You just made it weird.” 

“Did I?” Wilson asks, laughing. 

“Yeah, you did.” 

Wilson sobers back up, a hand on his chin like he’s giving it real thought. _God knows why he would_. 

“Just lovers then?” he murmurs, a slight smile growing again. 

“I’m not calling you my lover,” Nathan warns, “and you are definitely not calling me yours.” 

“Partner is too platonic, though,” Wilson sighs. “We have to think this through.” 

_No, we really don’t._

It doesn’t take long for Wilson to find Nathan's mouth again, lips curving into a smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from Adrenaline - Brooke Williams) 
> 
> Ayyy look at that! Companion piece to JBPBN DONE yeeeeeeet 
> 
> I was stuck at the breakfast scene (literally the very start) for the entire time until today when I got my shit together FINALLY 
> 
> Of course, in the middle of my procrastination, I wrote parts for a 3rd part which will probably be a combination of focalisations! No clue when it's done cause I'll have to actually flesh out like, 6 barely-done scenes 
> 
> THANKS AGAIN FOR READING and for being so patient! I hope you're enjoying these Cablepool Chronicles and make sure you read JBPBN if you haven't, cause this was to complement it!


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